the Bachelor and the Butterfly
by began-to-climb
Summary: With everything falling apart at Mode magazine, the last thing anyone needs to hear about it an office romance. But at Mode magazine, everyone wants something more. DanielBetty, ON HIATUS
1. Because We're Friends

**Name: **the Bachelor and the Butterfly

**Rating:** PG-13

**Summary: **Times at Mode are changing. With the president in prison, the thought-dead brother of the editor-in-chief alive and a woman, and the creative-director planning a hostel take-over, the last thing anyone wants to hear about is an office romance. After Daniel and Betty share an unexpected kiss, the two friends are at a loss at what to do. But the confusion takes a back seat when an event comes into play under Daniel's nose. How will the magazine survive the free fall? Because at Mode magazine, everyone wants something more.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of these characters.

**Authors Note: **Well, obviously Daniel and Betty are not going to get together this quick—but we know that's how the show will end—but bare with me here. This is just my imagination.

XXXX

He'd been watching her all afternoon.

Between when he had asked her to run an errand for him and when she'd returned something had definitely happened and, in totally un-Betty like behavior, she hadn't said a word. Betty Suarez just sat at her desk, silently shuffling through papers or printing documents or typing something on her computer. The only time she did talk was when she took or returned a phone call. She rarely ventured into his office, only getting up when he asked her to. But even in those few instances she just nodded and jotted down the requests, muttering a couple words as she came in and left. He sat behind his desk, papers spread out in front of him, rifting through them, checking information, and glanced up at her regularly, concentrating on her face to catch any flicker of emotion.

Daniel Meade knew something was bothering her and it pestered him to no end. Normally she would've told him without him inquiring, but today she kept whatever it was to herself. All afternoon he had asked her to do futile things, things he could very easily have done himself, but he'd secretly hoped that by talking to her it would, in turn, cause her to confide in him. He had even updated her on Alexis at one point, thinking that she'd start to rattle on questions, but she'd just sat there quietly, staring at her hands folded together in her lap.

Why wasn't she telling him? They were friends—the uncommon and unexpected team of the office—and friends talked to each other. At least, that's how he thought it worked. He didn't have many friends like Betty so it was all quite new to him, but he'd gotten accustomed to hearing everything about her life. A part of him even enjoyed it. And he thought she did too. So what was different now? He'd seen the guy from accounting come in just before she had left, had seen them talking, but hadn't paid attention. Could that be it?

Daniel looked back down at the stack of papers in his hands, forcing his gaze to be directed on something aside from Betty for the first time in the past five hours. Outside his office he could hear people shouting farewells to one another as people departed for the night, their hollers mixing with the siren of New York City. The radio behind his desk played a light Madonna song, something about love and dancing. He tried to focus on the sales records, but he couldn't get this nagging thought out of his mind. It kept resurfacing like a bad memory retold every Christmas. He glanced up one final time to see Betty returning to her desk, a fork of cheesecake descending between her lips. He frowned. That was her second slice today; there was definitely something wrong.

Daniel pushed himself up, straightening his suit jacket, and swiftly moved through the doorway, appearing out of his odd oval-shaped office. The peppy blonde receptionist, still chained to her desk, sat up immediately as he came out of his office, but slumped back down when he turned to the left. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he stood in front of Betty, expecting her to look up. When she didn't acknowledge him, no smile of metal or bright greeting, he crossed his arms over his chest and cleared his throat.

"Betty?" he said, intently staring down at her.

Slowly, her eyes rolled up to him. Her lip twitched, but she didn't say anything. She turned back to her computer screen and popped another bite of cheesecake in her mouth. Daniel dropped his arms. What was going on? Where was Betty? This wasn't the woman he knew. The Betty he knew would tell him anything on a moment's notice. She followed her heart, even when people cracked jokes about her and laughed in her face. She didn't care what others thought. She made up her mind quick about people and things, and stuck to it. She was loyal and trusting and compassionate towards everyone she cared about. No, this wasn't the same Betty. His Betty would've greeted him with a jolly hello and brilliant smile.

He wanted that Betty back. He needed that Betty.

He attempted to get her attention again, but she merely groaned in response. "Betty, what's going on?"

"Daniel, it's nothing, okay?" Betty said, brushing off her sadness.

"Well, it that were true, you wouldn't be sad, now would you?" Betty glared up at him, scowling. She took another bite. His frown deepened. "You can tell me, you know. I'm your friend, I'm listening."

"Daniel, please leave me alone."

The pleading in her voice pained him. Maybe he should just leave her alone. If that's what she wanted then maybe he should respect it. But that wasn't being a good friend. Being a friend was following what the other person needed not what they wanted. And right now, the last thing Betty needed was to be alone. Daniel yanked at the cuffs of his dress shirt, fidgeting as he tried to come up with something else to say. As he stared down at his nimble fingers, his eyes caught something else. Something buried in the trash can, just barely peeking out of a pile of papers tossed away.

Carefully, he dug through the papers, snagging the small slips of paper, and brought them out. He examined them, his eyes widening slightly at what they were. They were tickets for Wicked. For tonight. And they were good seats. Holding the two tickets between his fingers, he looked over at Betty. She hadn't seen him; she was still munching on her cheesecake, oblivious to his curiosity.

He cleared his throat again. "Betty, what are these?"

Her head whipped around, quickly. "They're tickets, Daniel."

"Yes, I can see that. And they're good tickets. For tonight. Why aren't you going to use them?"

Betty shrugged, pecking at her food. "I was going to go with my nephew, but he got grounded so…what's the point?"

Daniel couldn't believe what he was hearing. He'd known about the tickets because for two days she'd skipped around the office humming the songs, pronouncing excitedly to anyone who asked why she was singing or told her to stop that she was going to the show. She'd been proud of the tickets, as happy as a child with candy, and now they were thrown away like trash. Daniel didn't get it; she'd been so excited about it. What had changed?

Before he could think about what he was doing, he'd stuffed the tickets in his jacket and snatched the plate from Betty's hands. He took a step back when she reflexively swung for the plate. The plastic fork dangling from her lips, she shrieked his name in protest. Daniel merely raised an eyebrow, urging her on. She wasn't going to get her dessert back without her talking.

Betty rolled her eyes and pulled out the fork, fiddling with it. "Okay, Daniel, what do you want?"

"You, Betty, have two very good seats to tonight's Wicked and you're not using them. You have been jumping around here for the past two days, singing the songs and making them get stuck in my head. Now, I do not care if you don't want to go, you and I, we're going to the play. Hate me all you want, but we're going. Now go home and change or whatever. The play starts at eight-thirty; I'll pick you up at seven-thirty. Now go!" Betty stared at him, unsure of whether to follow his words or not. So she didn't move. "Betty Suarez."

"Okay, okay. Geez." Betty stood, dropping the fork on the plate, and paused beside Daniel. "Why do you care so much?"

"Because we're friends, Betty." Daniel answered swiftly.

A slight smile appeared on Betty's face. Daniel had to resist his own burst of emotion; it was good to see her bright face again. She laid a hand on his arm momentarily then began to gather her coat and purse.

"I'll see you in an hour, Daniel." she bid as she trotted off. Then she spun around. "Don't be late."

"Not in a million years." Daniel said. Betty's smile broadened.

Seconds later she was gone, a blurb of light passing in the air. Daniel watched her scamper off, noting the already spring in her step. He shook his head, looking down at the cheesecake abandoned in his hands. He'd forgotten about the cake. Shrugging his shoulder, he picked up the fork and sliced off a piece, sliding it in his mouth. He moaned in approval.

He took another bite, returning to his office. "That's good."

XXXX

**A/N: **There is chapter one. I thought it'd be fun to have Daniel act like Betty for a second. I promise, it'll have a little more humor after this.


	2. Bedroom Romping

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed this. I hope to get the next chapter up within the week.

XXXX

_Take me away,  
Take me far away from here  
I will run with you  
Don't be afraid  
Navigate and I will steer  
Into the sun, we will run_  
–_Take Me Away_, Fefe Dobson

There were evident reasons why Betty didn't style and pamper her hair the way other women did. She didn't find the idea of waking up earlier than usual, being the first one to wake to a silent house, the slightest bit intriguing. Her sister was the one with the beauty knowledge so she didn't know the variety of different things that could be done with her chocolate locks. And, most of all, patience and frustration always ran a tight race on the few occasions she did decide to try something nice.

Like now. Her hair pulled into a loose tie, the hairs licking the back of her neck, her fingers quarreled with the bobby pins she was trying to slip into place. She'd been trying for at least five minutes. Five minutes of muttering as the pins stumbled out of her grip. Five minutes of biting her lip in concentration as she watched her reflection grovel to work. All she needed was to pin her bangs to the side in an elegant sweep. Each time she almost succeeded, a smile hesitating to breach, the metal teeth would snap shut, clamping down on her nail, causing a shriek of pain to escape from her throat. She'd start over again.

It wasn't like she wanted anything fancy. She wanted sophistication since she was going to a Broadway play, but she was going with Daniel and that didn't require anything special. He knew what she looked like. So as long as her hair somewhat cooperated, even just for the night, and she could wear a simple dress, she was happy. But that hope was turning into a more difficult task than originally expected.

Betty glanced over her shoulder at the clock by her bed, her hands poised beside her forehead, and sighed. It was just after seven; time was running out. Her eyes briefly lingered on the door. She hadn't called Hilda in yet, despite the strong desire to do so. Though Hilda was her sister and would be more than willing to help her, a part of Betty was reminded of her redundant commanding instinct and her tendency to lose all self-control when it came to anything cosmetic. Betty dropped her hands. She surrendered.

"Need any help?"

Betty's head whipped around at the sound of Hilda's voice. The taller woman had her head poked into the room, her long braid peaking over her shoulder, looking curiously at Betty nervously ambling to perfect her coif. Without a second thought, Betty motioned Hilda inside. She eased the rest of the way in and closed the door, creating a sanctuary for the two women.

Hilda slumped against the doorframe, her hands buried into her jean pockets. "You didn't come down for dinner."

Betty glanced at her. "Yeah. Well, I'm going out so I'm going to eat later."

Hilda crossed her arms, transitioning into interrogation mode. "Where you going?"

"Broadway. I'm seeing Wicked, remember?"

"Yeah, but I thought you were going to go with that Henry guy. Till he got a girlfriend."

Betty didn't respond as she finally secured a pin. Her braces grinned back at her. "I was, but not anymore."

"Who you going with?"

A silence fell over the pair as Betty held her tongue. "Daniel." she finally muttered.

Hilda immediately straightened. "Daniel? As in Daniel Meade? Betty!"

Betty spun around, matching Hilda's stance. "Hilda, what? Daniel and I are friends. We _can_ go do things together as friends."

"But, Betty, he's your boss. And he's Daniel Meade, public playboy." She stopped. "I just don't want you to get involved with this guy, so soon after Walter."

Betty flashed her a dumb look, displaying her opinion of the thought before she spoke. "It's Daniel. That won't happen." She glanced at the clock and panic instantly struck her. "He's going to be here in twenty minutes and I don't know what I'm wearing."

Hilda held up a finger, halting the nervous babbling that Betty surely was going to plunge in to. "Okay." She yanked open the door and hung herself out, leaning as far as she could go. "Justin!"

Betty darted to her sister, her hands lunging out to pull her back in. "Hilda, what are you doing?"

"Getting Papa Madonna to help. Justin! Emergency!" Hilda screamed and Betty covered her ears.

Within seconds Justin had slivered into the room, looking frantically between the two women. "What's the drama?"

"Betty has a date…with Daniel Meade." Hilda stated matter-of-factly.

Justin gasped, his hand flying to his mouth to hide the large smile. Then he excitedly began clapping. Betty stared at the two. She didn't get it; these two were acting as if Daniel was some hot-stuff celebrity or something. Sure, he was heir to the Meade Publication fortune, but he wasn't a god. Plus, it wasn't a date. It was merely two friends going out to see a play. Just as she was beginning to adjust to Justin's standing ovation, he grabbed her arm. The look in his eye was what she knew all too well; he was taking over and she had no choice but to go along for the ride.

"Okay, Mom, comb Aunt Betty's hair and I'll pick you something to wear. Oh my gosh, this is _so_ exciting!"

Betty couldn't help but mumble an exaggerated 'thanks' to Hilda as she was led to the bed. She rolled her eyes. This was going to be a long twenty minutes.

XXXX

Betty shifted uncomfortably on the bench cushions, smoothing the wrinkles on her dress, and fiddled with the numerous objects on the tabletop, her eyes flickering from her hands to the woman smiling back at her. The field of make-up, hair products and every style comb overwhelmed the counter, their reflection from the mirror hanging on the cream wall causing them to appear more cluttered than they actually were. Betty folded her hands neatly on her lap and inspected herself, finally succumbing to admiring her appearance.

After Hilda had meticulously brushed out the tangles and mats until it was smooth and glossy, she'd replaced the pins with silver barrettes, adding a touch of elegance to Betty's exotic look. Light make-up highlighted her face, mascara and eye-shadow attracting attention to her eyes and gloss coloring her lips. Over his meltdown about his family's indolence towards the art of fashion, Justin had selected the dress that now adorned Betty's curves. Knee-length and just low enough to flash a taste of her cleavage, the light plum dress cascaded freely after the black bow that secured the rouching over the bust. Staring at the transformation, Betty still couldn't believe that it was herself in the mirror.

She picked up the brush, her hand brushing the pair of black velvet peak-toe heels, and gingerly ran the needles through her hair, cautious not to disturb the perfect side-swept bangs. As the silky tendrils slid through her hands, the sprinkles of glitter sparkled in the light. Betty smiled; the glitter had been her idea. She glanced over at the open door, her hands halting. Daniel was downstairs, waiting on her, and here she still sat. He'd arrived only moments ago yet she hadn't moved from the bench. She was surprised at herself. She wasn't nervous. Though she had no reason to be, she had thought that on some level she would be nervous about going out with another guy so soon after breaking-up with Walter. Then again, it was Daniel; she had to remind herself of that.

There was a soft knock on the door. She looked over and a smile fell across her face. "Daniel."

Daniel grinned broadly and sauntered into the room, one hand behind his back and the other tucked to his stomach. Betty stood and made her way over to him, doing a childish twirl, her dress dancing as the wind played its music. She straightened her glasses, heat rising to her cheeks, then held the hem of her dress to the side.

She titled her head. "Do you like it?"

"It's different. But I like it." Daniel answered.

Betty nodded. "Good answer."

Daniel laughed then drew his arm from behind his back, instantly hugging it to his body with his other hand. Between his fingers was a single long-stemmed white lily. A gasp escaped her throat as she stepped closer to him, accepting the gift. The delicate tissue grazed her knuckle as she took the flower, lifting it to her nose and inhaling the sweet story of the petals. Her heart flipped. A flower; that was very not Daniel. His reputation alone explained that it wasn't in his character to give the girl flowers. There was that one occasion where he'd asked that roses be sent to every girl he had slept with since whenever, but that wasn't because he missed them or because he actually had feelings for them. Those flowers had been a sly method to soften emotions so he could pull a hit and run.

Daniel wasn't the type of guy that offered simplicity. His life had never been simple so he repaid people around him with that same curtsey. That kept him surrounded by friends and kept people laughing. He was raised in luxury and lavish was the only lifestyle he understood. He knew Betty wasn't the heart necklace from Tiffany's type of girl and he was proud of that fact. For her he would be simple because simplicity is what is most appreciated.

"It's beautiful, Daniel. Thank-you." Betty said, setting the flower on the bench.

"It means sweetness." Betty furrowed her eyes curiously. "At least, that's what I was told."

Betty smiled, mouthing a silent 'okay,' and turned to hook her shoes. "So, Daniel, do you always pick up a girl from her bedroom?" She clutched the counter for support as she slipped on the heels she hadn't worn in years, cramming her feet into the slender fitting, forcing herself not to wince.

Daniel laughed. "No, but it's where I drop them off."

Betty halted and looked over at him, her other shoe half on her foot. She grimaced playfully, squeezing her eyes closed at the unwanted image flashing across the surface of her mind. "Okay. Too much info."

Daniel's laughed louder. Betty started to sway, loosing her balance, but Daniel grasped her arm and steadied her, watching her carefully. She smiled graciously at him as she stood straight, now inches taller. Daniel found herself more level with her. He gazed at her, fully taking in her new appearance. He had to admit that she was beautiful. She had always been pretty with her glasses and bright spirit, but her beauty was heightened tonight. He cleared his throat as she grabbed the black purse strewn on the bed.

The necklace in his hand suddenly slithered, reminding him it was there. "Oh, Hilda asked that I give this to you."

Betty turned around instinctively, bunching her hair in one hand and holding it on the top of her head. Her neck bared itself to him. He looped the silver chain around her neck and locked the clasp, careful not to snag a strand of hair. She let her hair fall back. Daniel's hands lightly stroked the nape of her neck, fondling a sensitive spot. Betty wondered what he was doing, but his touch kept her words at bay. He brushed a lock of hair off her shoulder, causing it to tumble down her back, then slid his fingertips down her arms. Goosebumps rose, her body shuddering.

Then they stepped apart, Betty facing him and Daniel running a hand through his hair. "Ready?" Betty asked.

Daniel coughed, briefly loosing his voice. "Yeah."

Betty nodded and led them out of the room, holding onto his wrist out of habit. They shuffled down the stairs, not saying a word to one another, to find the three other Suarez's waiting expectantly in the living room. They were all pretending not to notice the pair, but Betty knew they'd been pacing impatiently.

"We're going." Betty announced. Daniel took the jacket off the banister that he assumed was Betty's and helped her into it.

"Okay. Have a good time, mija." Ignacio called, not looking up from his newspaper.

"Tell me all about it when you get back. Like, every detail!" Justin instructed, waving them off.

Daniel opened the door and ushered Betty out the door, bidding goodnight to the family. The snow that pounded her face, mixed with the winter's freeze, caught her off-guard. She hugged her coat closer to her body, ignoring her chattering teeth, and ambled down the stairs. Daniel's usual car was parked at the curb, steam rising from the back pipe. Betty could vaguely see the driver occupying himself inside.

She looked back at Daniel. "No limo?"

Daniel smiled. "Not tonight. I—"

He was immediately silenced when he slipped on a patch of fresh ice and fell backward, landing heavily on his butt. He lay there, expressionless, in the snow, in the middle of the sidewalk, as Betty's ferocious laughing pierced his ears. He glared up at her, the mock menace only intensifying when she appeared in his line of vision. She held out her hand to him; he rolled his eyes and took it. She tried to stop her laughter as he twisted around and tried to get a look at the large wet spot on his ass, clasping her hand over her mouth. But she couldn't restrain herself. It was too funny. She snorted.

He glared at her, his lips pulling to crack his own smile. "It's not funny."

Betty's face turned serious, not a trace of amusement on her face. "No, of course not."

Daniel rolled his eyes again, his own smile breaking. He shrugged, a chuckle rolling out of his chest. This initiated another spout of uncontrollable laughter from Betty. This time, Daniel's laughter merged with hers and he didn't care.

"Thank God it's only a coat." he muttered, opening the car door.

His pride only slightly bruised, he slid in beside her. The incident in her bedroom was quickly forgotten. The driver pulled from the curb and molded into the city nightlife, becoming another red bulb in a coating of black.

XXXX

**A/N: **It took me a couple revisions, but I'm happy with it. Please review. I'll love ya'll.


	3. BANANAS

**Authors Note: **Hey, sorry for the time span between updates. Inspiration completely fleeted me for a week since I'm getting ready to jet off to France Saturday night. I'll be overseas from the tenth to the eighteenth so I won't be able to update till probably the following weekend. But, I do have Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday off so I'm going to write like a maniac to get you another chapter updated. And I promise you'll love it. But I hope you love this chapter too.

XXXX

"Okay, um, favorite flavor of ice cream?"

"Strawberry, hands down." Daniel grimaced, his face contorting, his eyes rolling over. Betty gawked, sitting up. "What is the face?"

Daniel's countenance transitioned, playing clueless. "What face?"

"The face you just made. This,"—Betty mimicked the face with her best acting skill, lopsiding her expression, Daniel laughing to himself as her glasses slid to the side—"face."

Daniel shook his head, looking in front of him. "I didn't make a face." Pursing her lips, Betty swatted his arm lightly, crossing her arms in a huff as she shifted to face him. "It's just…strawberry? That's so plain. I'm a rocky road fan myself."

Betty rolled her eyes, but couldn't help herself from casting a sideways look at Daniel and smiling to herself. She focused her attention out the window, the dark New York streets whizzing past, lampposts on the curbs radiating glimpses of the pedestrians crowding the streets. She tapped her index finger on her chin, threading through her mind for another question.

Her head whipped around, eyes bearing into Daniel seated next to her, rubbing his chin casually. "What is the one thing you have to put on everything, no matter what it is?"

Daniel contemplated the question carefully, giving himself a second to think. They'd been playing Twenty Questions since Daniel had picked her up and so far, in the twenty minutes on the road, they hadn't run out of questions to ask one another. Daniel had started the game, despite the childishness of it, reasoning that even though they worked together closely nearly every day, they didn't know a lot when it came to personal attributes like favorite movie or what 80's star they would love to meet. It was juvenile, but it was worth the laughs.

Daniel groaned. "Don't get too disgusted with me on this one. But, I have to put mustard on _everything_."

Betty's face scrunched. "Ew! That's gross! I mean, I like mustard, but on everything? Really?"

"Oh, coming from the woman who used to think that aliens were watching her in the bathroom." Daniel fired, smiling.

Betty held up a finger, silencing him to defend herself. "Hey, I was six and I'd just seen E.T. for the first time! At least I never shoved grapes up my nose."

"My record of three is still standing. That's an achievement." Betty chuckled and depleted her chin in her palm, elbow propped on the door. A short silence followed, Daniel drumming his fingers on his knee, Betty humming a familiar tone from the play they were headed to. Daniel checked his watch; curtain was in ten minutes. He rubbed his hands together. "Favorite song of…2005?"

Betty's eyebrows arched. "What?"

"Come on, favorite song of 2005. Personally, I liked that Sugar, We're Going Down song." Daniel answered, completely at ease with the confession.

"Who was that again?"

Daniel flung his hand. "I don't remember. Fall something."

Betty smiled. "Mine was either La Tortura by Shakira or…Hollaback Girl."

As Betty hid her face in shame, a blush rising to her cheeks, a large grin spread across Daniel's face. "Gwen Stefani, really?" He laughed.

"Don't laugh. It was a fun song. Catchy."

Daniel shrugged. "Well, of course." He paused. "Let me hear you say this is bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S. Come on, Betty. You know the words."

Betty dumped her head in her hands. "Oh my gosh."

Despite her embarrassed groan, Daniel continued to sing, quite off-key Betty noticed. She glanced at him, watching him make a complete fool in front of her, dancing in his seat and singing like he was a rockstar on stage. It was moments like this that made her glad that they were friends. He had the days when he was serious because it was his job and he couldn't drop his guard, but in his heart Betty believed he was still a kid at heart. It was a shame that only a limited number of people got to see him act like himself, like the clumsy kid he was. But they both knew that if anyone, especially his father, saw him act this way, they'd have his head. He was Daniel Meade, heir to Meade Publications, editor-in-chief of Mode magazine. He wasn't Daniel Meade, grown-up child of Bradford Meade, karoke singer and pizza gobbler. But at least he was comfortable enough with her to act like the latter.

"This is bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S." Daniel continued to sing, nudging Betty to get her to join him.

Finally she surrendered. At the start of the next verse, her voice mingled with his. "Again. This is bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S. This is bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S."

Daniel's voice faded after the end of the verse, clueless of the next words. He collapsed against the leather seat, slumping down, and watched her. Much to his surprise, she picked the song up again quickly. She knew the words. "A few times I've been around that track. So it's not just gonna happen like that. Because I ain't no hollaback girl. I ain't no hollaback girl. I ain't no hollaback girl. I ain't no hollaback girl."

Daniel burst into applause, whooping her name, the hollers drowned out by his ferocious clapping. Betty bit her lip and shook her head, trying to contain the smile on her face, but unable to. She mockingly glared at him. "You are such a dork."

Daniel nodded. "Thank you."

"Uh, Mr. Meade. We've arrived." the driver informed, his cloaked eyes glancing at them from the rearview mirror.

Daniel nodded, uttering a quick token of appreciation, as the car eased to a stop on the curb. Betty hovered at the door, gazing up at the vast building lit brilliantly by the city's adoration. The sidewalk was littered with people, gangs scurrying from across the street, hurrying to nab their seats before the doors locked for the evening. Their anxious chatter pierced the glass, filling the small cabin with excitement, infecting Betty. Butterflies began to swell in her stomach.

The door opened; Daniel poked his head inside. Betty hadn't even realized she was alone. He extended his hand to her, offering the courteous gesture, and flashed her a smile, a small amount of comfort radiating from it. She returned the smile and, smoothing out her dress scattered around her, placed her hand in his, climbing from the safe haven. Her head tilted back as her eyes rose upward, taking in the structure's vanity, subconsciously letting Daniel lead her to the entrance. She didn't remember it being so extravagant.

Daniel nudged her. "Excited?"

Betty only smiled. They blended into the crowd pouring into the front foyer, the yellow light luring them in from the darkness, slowly moving with the push and shove of the night. Betty gripped Daniel's arm, locking hers in his securely, keeping herself as close to him as possible. When they reached the foyer and the crowd spanned out, skittering off to their seats or moving over to a party they were joining, her grip loosened, but she kept her other hand casually rested on his arm, falling into stride with him.

She recognized a few of the spectators lingering in the grand hall, the walls painted in a peaceful tone, shaded a lighter color from the chandelier hanging over their heads. Most of them were businessmen, company owners or writers that she'd seen in magazines or mentioned in newspaper articles with their significant others, looking to enjoy a bit of theater on this cold night. She wasn't ashamed to admit that her eyes gawked a few of them, completely star-struck at the sight of those she admired, her lips breathing their names. Daniel took it in stride, nodding and waving to the people that bid him greeting, ushering Betty along so they wouldn't be forced to stop and chat with his father's friends. _That_ would be insufferable.

When the pair passed an older gentleman who inquired about Daniel's incarcerated father, Daniel rattled on his automatic answer, not letting the question faze him. His countenance didn't change; the smile stayed on his lips. The same expression came when someone asked about his brother-turned-sister. They weren't appropriate conversation topics, but they were what the world wanted to know about. And it was just Daniel's bad luck. Betty glanced up at him, squeezing his arm reassuringly, but Daniel didn't acknowledge it. The past few days had been nothing but a chaotic mess for him, with his brother resurrected as a woman and his father being thrown into jail for the murder of his ex-lover. Now the future of Mode and everything affiliated with Meade Publications was in his hands, waiting for his command, and he was at a total loss at what to do. For now he was treading water, just barely keeping his head on the surface, struggling to regain control.

The extra-work was taking a toll on him. He didn't sleep much anymore, his appetite had practically become nonexistent and anytime he wasn't at the office he was caring for his alcoholic mother. It was obvious it was too much for one man to handle; Betty tried to help and volunteered to do certain things as much as possible, but it all didn't seem like enough to her. So she stuck to being his friend, providing comfort when he confided in her as he usually did. She knew in her heart he would do the same for her and this night proved that. He'd sensed something was off and he'd done something to cheer her up. And it was working.

Betty laid her head on Daniel's arm and this time he looked at her. They smiled at one another.

"Daniel!"

Daniel and Betty drew back from each other slightly, their heads whipping around and their feet halting. A man, near Daniel's age, Betty guessed, with his brown hair disheveled in front of his eyes, hurried up to them, ushering his bubbling wife along with him, sparkling his pearly teeth as he approached.

"Hi." Daniel returned, switching between the man and woman uncomfortably.

"It's good to see you again. How's your father?" the man asked.

Betty steered her eyes at Daniel, waiting for his stoic answer. "He's doing okay. He wants to be out."

"Well, I don't blame him! Three days in that crap hole can drive any man crazy." Daniel politely chuckled along with the man and woman, Betty joining. The man, catching sight of Betty, held out his hand to her. "Hello. I'm Rick,"—He motioned to the woman on his arm. She waved—"my wife Leanne."

Betty shook his hand. "Betty,"—She pointed at her companion—"Daniel."

Rick and Leanne laughed. "Oh, I just love your dress." Leanne commented, brushing her hand over Betty's arm.

The touch shook Betty uncomfortably. She squirmed. "Thanks. Yours is beautiful."

Leanne brushed her strawberry hair off her eyes. "Yes, well…"

"So, what's next for Mode? Any special layouts?" Rick questioned.

Daniel chuckled to himself, running a hand through his hair. But Betty felt his muscles tense. "Um, right now it's up in the air. We have some ideas, but nothing official has been chosen yet." she pitched in.

Just as Rick opened his mouth to sneer a remark, the lights flickered and the chatter in the foyer dulled for a brief moment. Everyone needed to get to their seats. "Every time, it's the same thing. Lights flicker and we corral inside. At least there's no trumpet." Leanne said, her tone selfishly whiney.

Betty nodded. "Well, it was good to talk to you folks. Daniel, we should have lunch sometime." Rick said when Leanne began to lightly tug on his arm.

Daniel shuffled his feet. "Definitely."

"It was nice to meet you." Leanne whispered to Betty as she passed the woman on her way to the staircase that led to the theater.

Betty smiled at her then turned back to Daniel. "It's never just hi, hello with you, is it?"

Daniel laughed. He never was able to get away from work. He placed his hand around Betty's waist and steered her after the couple, migrating with everyone else into the colossal theater. Betty wound her arm around Daniel's waist, her purse thumping against her leg. Out of the corner of his eye, as they climbed up the red-carpeted stairs, Daniel saw flashes go off on the sidewalk. He paid the photographers no attention. What could they say?

"Did you know those people?" Betty asked. She eased down the steps to the array of seats, scouting for their assigned places on the sixth row, holding Daniel's hand in her own.

"Uh, no." Daniel confessed, smiling to himself. Betty shook her head.

They wove past clumps of people blocking the aisle, pardoning themselves, making their way to their row. Finally, they collapsed in their seats, heaving heavy sighs of relief. Betty glanced around her, taking in her surroundings. She was amazed at how close the stage was. She didn't get how Henry could've afforded such phenomenal seats. Daniel shifted beside her, crossing and uncrossing his legs. His sudden change in behavior was starting to worry Betty. Minutes ago he'd been singing in the back seat and now he barely uttered a word.

"Are you okay?" Betty asked, concern laced in her tone.

Daniel shrugged. "I guess."

Betty tilted her head, sending him a look over her glasses. "Daniel, this is me you're talking to."

Daniel stared at her, his lips parted slightly. He couldn't lie to her; they were too close. She could tell when he was lying like he could sense she was upset about something. It was something they'd developed only weeks ago, like a sixth sense. It was a burden sometimes because they couldn't keep anything from one another, but it was also a blessing because it meant that they both had someone to talk to.

Daniel sighed. "It's just…I don't like talking to people about my father and Alex—Alexis. I never know what to say. If Alex was still here and still my brother, he'd tell to say whatever I wanted, but don't put our family in more tabloids. We already have enough bad press and everything I want to say will hurt him, will hurt my father and my mother…so I don't know what to say. Do I lie or do I do everything Alex taught me?" He paused. "I just wish I could talk to him like I used to be able to, before he tore our family apart and decided to completely change who he is."

Betty listened to him, listened to every word. Unknowingly, her hand had found his. Their fingers were now laced together. "Daniel, sometimes we don't get what we want. Sometimes we have to work with what we have. There's not much you can do about your dad, but try talking to Alexis. Maybe you're missing something."

"Yeah, maybe." He looked up at the ceiling. Betty followed his gaze. "The last time I was here, I was ten, I think. It was one of our rare family outings. We went to see the Phantom of the Opera cause of my mother's begging. After the play ended and we were leaving, Alex and my dad, they got into a fight. Alex was dancing around and singing the songs from the opera, just being himself. But my father, he started yelling because he was ashamed. I haven't been back since."

Daniel's head lulled to the side, his eyes resting on her face. She didn't know how to react. What was there to say to that? "Thank you for bringing me here." Daniel attempted a smile and turned his attention back to the stage. Betty pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, settling in her chair. "So, how much are things going to change?" Daniel looked over at her. "At Mode."

Daniel paused. "A lot."

Before Betty could respond, the lights dimmed and music floated from the stage, the red curtain rising upward. A broad smile broke out on Betty's face; she squeaked under her breath. Daniel, having heard the burst of happiness, stared at her, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. He brushed his thumb over her knuckle and settled to watch the show. His hand didn't let go of hers.

XXXX

**A/N: **FYI, I've never been to Broadway, so I have no idea if this is accurate. It's just what I imagine it to be. Please read and review.


	4. Wicked!

**Authors Note: **I know that I promised chapters before I went off to France (please don't throw stones). I never got around to it and then when I was trying to get it written last week, my friend's parents were killed so we had to go through that dance. So, I'm sorry, but here's a chapter that I really hope you like.

XXXX

Daniel was more than aware that his hand was knitted in Betty's. He was aware that the man two rows up was snoring. He was aware than Betty's touch was warm against his naturally cool skin. He was aware that the play was two verses away from the curtain drop. He was aware that Betty laid her head on his shoulder only during the sad or romantic parts of the play. He was aware that the man beside him kept checking his watch, muttering under his breath while his wife hissed at him to cease his fidgeting.

Then again, just because a man noticed small things doesn't mean he's seen the big picture.

As of the moment, to him the big picture consisted of the scene around him. Elphaba and Fiyero gazed at each other, celebrating Oz citizens dancing their gay song, circling the free couple. The scene was painted a vibrant montage of color, crackling with the dark demeanor of the defeated antagonist. Daniel caught a side-ways glimpse of Betty, instantly noting the gleaming bulb in her eye. He smirked, grazing his finger over his lips; knowing that he sparked that intense astonishment caused a sense of accomplishment to swell in his stomach. It was hard to believe that only hours ago she had trashed the prospect of this night due to the foul memory of a phantom. Now she was perched in her seat, intently mesmerized by the figures frolicking across the stage.

_No one mourns the Wicked_

_Wicked! _

_Wicked!_

The performers stilled, the music fading as the light dimmed until a complete black inferno. The scene went cold, the people vanishing. The audience burst into applause, a wave of standing ovations quickly rifting through the levels. Betty released Daniel's hand, jumping to her feet to join the pandemonium. She clapped ferociously, snapping her head around when Daniel shyly embraced her side.

Gradually, the aisle lights amplified, the applause fading into the darkness, and Betty fell back into the cushions. People around her began to calmly file out of the theatre, Daniel watching them, shuffling his feet. Betty put her hand to her forehead, feeling her face flush.

She grinned up at Daniel. "Oh my gosh. That was so good. Daniel, wasn't that good?"

Daniel shrugged, bowing his head and stuffing his hands in his pockets. "It was okay."

"Okay?" Betty rose to her feet defiantly, sparring with her friend and boss. "Okay?" She abruptly lashed out and attacked Daniel's side with a series of pokes, biting her lip mischievously. She took pleasure in the play as Daniel hunched over and whipped to the side to dodge her striking pokes. "Okay, huh, Daniel? It was okay?"

Daniel soon gave up on blocking his body and lunged out to grab Betty's hands, but when that didn't work he swatted at her, retaliating in defense. When she struck, his hand batted hers away. When she double-teamed, he followed her act. Their moment of juvenile trickery ended when Daniel yelped mercy, quenching his face as Betty lightly jabbed her fingers into his stomach. Betty grinned triumphantly, heaving a content sigh.

Standing on her tiptoes, she swept a lock of his hair back, taking his hand in hers. Without another word, she led the way up the steps to the exit at the top, Daniel hovering at her heels. No one paid them any attention as they glided down the velvet stairs; they were just another couple at the theatre. The fact that it was Daniel Meade and his personal assistant didn't matter any more. It was grateful circumstances for Daniel, who easily fell into a pleasant conversation with Betty, his broad, leisurely steps overpowering her petite, yet ambitious ones.

A flock of residents migrated towards the front doors, stepping from the warm enclosure into the bitter New York winter, the wind pelting their faces to icicles. Cars and taxis alike swung against the curb, ready to assist any departing clients, molding into the flickering, fluorescent portrait with a full cubicle.

Daniel halted at the door, searching the sidewalk for any sign of their car. It wasn't there. He voiced this to Betty. Hr shoulder jumped. "Okay, we'll just take a cab." she suggested.

"No. Cameron volunteered to pick us up. He's probably just stuck in traffic." He stepped back, bringing Betty with him, ostracizing them from the loitering pack. "We'll wait." Betty rolled her eyes, but didn't argue, instead opting for laying her head on his arm. "Tired?"

Betty merely nodded in confirmation. A shiver curled through her body as a sudden gust of cold air breezed from the front doors. Then she began to shiver, hideous thoughts pointed at the person who propped the barrier open. Detaching himself, Daniel eased off his coat and put it around her, attempting to keep her warm, then wound his arms around her. She smiled.

In the six months she'd worked with Daniel, Betty had come to understand a few things about him that the media had gotten completely incorrect. He wasn't estranged from his father; in fact, the main thing he sought from the older man was his approval and pride. He also wasn't the dumb jock that got into a prestigious school due to his name and his money; he ran Mode magazine with intelligence and precision, able to accommodate corrections and sudden crisis on the dot. And, more importantly, despite his past womanizing lifestyle, the regular 'day' girls fluctuating routinely in and out of his bed, he actually cared about people and would put their needs before his in a heartbeat.

A memory raced across Betty's mind, taking her back to words that her best friend and resident seamstress at Mode had spoken after Daniel had insisted that Betty take the job at MYW. The Scottish woman had cleverly debated that Daniel wasn't like other bosses who would've fought for someone like Betty just because they desperately wanted to keep the essential creativity to get a leap over the competition. Daniel had known that he wouldn't lose Betty as a friend, or a partner, and he'd let her go with the knowledge that this move was for the best for her career. He'd done it in her best interest. That, combined with other examples, laid out Cristina's layout for how deeply Daniel cared about Betty.

Betty, being the chivalrous person she was, hesitated to demur. She knew Daniel cared about her, just as much as she cared about him, but when the L-word had been tossed in by mistake, she'd felt her body drain. Daniel Meade and love were not two terms that she ever thought would be together in one sentence. The latter was such a strong word and Daniel would have been the first to admit that he had commitment issues, especially after the fiasco that he'd been put through on live television. But Cristina had managed to stumble it into their conversation that afternoon and now it streamed across Betty's mind on occasion.

Although it was a natural occurrence, it wasn't a likely one. She sighed in relief at that thought. She was taken from her reverie as a bright flash blinded her. Then another. She groaned and looked towards the source of the nuisance. Four photographers stood outside, crowding the sidewalk, clicking away at her and Daniel huddled together inside.

"Someone tipped them off." she said, motioning to the paparazzi.

"Yeah, call it the family curse. No matter what, we're never far from the spotlight." Daniel explained half-heartedly. His gaze fell on the street outside just as their car pulled to the curb. "Ready to go?"

Betty parted from him, curling a strand of hair behind her ear, and let him lead her out the door, into the naked eye of the public. Within seconds they were surrounded. They were fair game outside the security of Broadway. The men suffocated the pair like a pack of wolves, inching closer and closer to capture their prey in candidness, waiting for that money shot. Betty tried to concentrate on the clack of her heels hitting the pavement instead of the photographers invading their privacy, but that objective was harder and harder each time one of them wolves moved too close. Her body tightened.

Daniel, noting his friends peril, gripped her hand, encouraging her to stay calm. He couldn't stop this time, couldn't stop to make sure she was comfortable, because in this situation there was no level of comfort. If they stopped they'd be left open and vulnerable. That small move would give the paparazzi an opportunity to go for their paycheck. They were good at their jobs—they had to be—and they had ways of manipulating their unwilling subjects to do things in front of their camera. If their photo landed on the front cover of some sleazy tabloid, blaring a ludicrous story of infidelity or drug abuse, the photographer was paid more.

They didn't stop. They breezed through the clutter of cameras to the car, Daniel opening the door so Betty could escape the thirsty photographers first. He had grown up with this amount of publicity, especially at certain periods of his life, so he was used to being watched, being recorded and being lied about. He slid in after Betty without a last glance at the photographers; the one other thing he knew about them aside from manipulation was that they thrived on human reactions. He always remained blank when hounded by the wolves.

They drove in silence until they were over the bridge, leaving the sparkle behind venturing into Queens. Daniel apologized and Betty smiled, insisting he didn't need to be sorry. "It's something I should get used to, working at Mode, with you."

"They can get pretty hungry and when that happens they…they're out for blood. There's no line of privacy for them." Daniel added, chuckling.

"At least you can laugh about it." Betty shared the laugh.

"You kind of have to be able to. I've been in the media so much that I've learned a few things about them. I've learned some tricks too."

"Hmm, then maybe I should keep you around." Betty joked, unintentionally flirtatious.

Daniel looked at her, watching as her face shaded gold every time they drove underneath a streetlight. The color lit up her features, highlighting her smile and dark eyes, causing Daniel to realize how beautiful she was. He settled into the leather seat.

"You ever been to France?" Betty flashed him a quizzical look then disintegrated into a look of stupidity. "Right. This summer I'm taking you there. We'll go to Paris, visit the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower. You'll love it."

Betty giggled, shaking her head. "That was so random."

Daniel, arching an eyebrow, stuck his tongue out at her. Betty fired the same gesture back. Daniel chuckled to himself. The rest of the drive was a short one, spent in a hushed match of the continued twenty-one questions. All too soon, they were at Betty's home in Queens. They both scowled, disappointed at having to get out of the car.

Daniel exited first then extended his hand to her, which she accepted, ascending from the car with the same amount of poise she'd instilled all night. Daniel didn't let go of her hand as they climbed the stone steps to the front door. All the lights inside were off, nothing giving the home life except the dull porch light. Facing each other, the image easily replicated the nights of teenage romance when the boy walked the girl to her door. The awkwardness was transparent in the air.

Betty fumbled with her keys, smashing her lips together nervously. "I had a lot of fun tonight. I needed it."

"I think we both did." Daniel stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. "Are you glad you went with me?"

Betty paused, teetering back and forth teasingly. "Maybe. You're a good substitute."

Daniel cupped his heart, mocking shock. "Ouch, my ego."

Betty laughed, playfully pushing him, then pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Ha ha, funny man."

Their laughter died after a minute. They both paused, unsure of what to do, and then they leaned into one another, closing the distance. Their lips met, brushing gently across the other, a delicate kiss that broke once then united for a second time. Betty's hand snaked up Daniel's chest, feeling the plane of this chest, coming to rest at the curve of his shoulder. Slowly, they drew back, smiles plastered on both sets of lips.

Daniel bit his lip. "Good night, Betty."

Betty's hand fell from his body and he watched her duck inside the house, waving at him right before the door closed. He heard the sling as it locked. He surveyed the house, noticing a light on the second floor click on, then skipped down the stairs.

XXXX


	5. National Enquirer

**Authors Note: **I am so sorry for not updating sooner. I had a lack of enthusiasm for this piece for a couple weeks, which was probably due to stress over upcoming AP Exams, finals, and trying to find a first job. For the people who read this story every update, I'd greatly appreciate if you were patient with me. There's only a week and a half left school before summer starts and the last week will be pretty hectic, but once I get into summer, I'll be working every day on new chapters, to this fic and to Dancing in Circles, another one I started over the weekend. So, here's the new installment. I hope you like it.

XXXX

_Betty was nervous. She shifted in the stiff desk, eyes flickering up to the clock above the door, watching it tediously tick away her life. She folded her hands in her lap then transferred them to the desktop, rolling her eyes at herself. She breathed carefully, reminding herself as she glanced around that it was any normal day, just like any other day at school. _

_The classroom was littered with people she knew, all the people she'd known throughout her life. Ignacio and Bradford Meade were sitting in the corner, slouching against the wall; two rebels who wanted nothing to do with the hysteric chatter in the room. Justin and Marc laughed excitedly with each other; Marc curling a strand of his hair around his finger as Justin demonstrated a step from a musical that Betty didn't catch the name of. Amanda filed her nails in one of the desks close to the pair, her countenance bored, her mouth chewing on a stick of gum. Hilda was chatting on her phone, Betty only assuming to Santos. Off to the side, Wilhelmina and Alexis were going at it, Christina trying to compromise the fight, the two divas repetitiously poking each other accusingly in the shoulder, their yells muffled by the classroom's racket. _

_Betty's eyes finally settled on Henry and Walter sitting in the row to her left, talking together like old friends. Charlie was perched on Henry's lap, her fingers playfully running through his brown hair, smiling at everything he said. Noticing her eyes on them, the trio waved at Betty, beaming. She waved back, forcing a smile, then turned back to the clock. She groaned and took up the task of smoothing out her vibrant poncho she was currently adorned in. She hoped everyone liked it. _

_A hush fell over the class suddenly. Betty looked up, confused at what caused the abrupt transition, and found Daniel waltzing into the room, his Bachelor of the Year grin on his lips. He smiled at his classmates, binder tucked under his arm, no girl on his arm. His eyes fell on Betty; she straightened. _

_He quickly occupied the empty seat beside her. "Hey, Betty. It's great to see you. How you been?"_

_Their conversation started like it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. They spent the class period talking about the most random things—the football team, the school newspaper, family issues—Betty all the while aware of the jealous eyes digging into her back, but she didn't care. There was a spark. There was chemistry. She could see it in his eye. And she was fitting in. _

_The bell rang._

_Everyone stood in pandemonium, gathering his or her belongings and bolting for the door. Wilhelmina crashed her shoulder into Alexis as she brushed past the taller woman, shooting an icy glare over her shoulder. Betty watched this, shaking her head disapprovingly._

_"Cheerleaders." Daniel muttered, laughing to himself. _

_"You date them." Betty stated matter-of-factly. Adjusting her purse on her arm, Betty fell in stride with Daniel. "So, um, I was thinking…do you wanna hang out sometime?"_

_Daniel stopped, the smile slightly faltering. "Uh…"_

_Someone whacked Betty. _

Betty jolted awake just after something smacked in her the face and her door slammed shut. Groaning, she instantly recognized the clack of heels on the hardwood and turned over to yelp irritably at her sister for invasion of privacy. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand, rubbing her groggy eyes to get a better vision of the small hand on the six and the large hand on the two, and contemplated adding a reprimand for waking her up thirty minutes early. Yet, by the time the information circulated in her mind, the hall was silent again.

She rolled over, shoving the threat to the back of her mind and nuzzling the plush pillow, looping her arm underneath it, and attempted to fall back into her slumber. Her reverie floated back to her last dream, pondering the meaning of Daniel's reaction. What was he about to say? Who had hit her? What was poking her arm?

Her hand lashed out, disturbed by another interruption in the wee hour of the Monday morning, swiftly knocking whatever was sheeting her arm. Then her eyebrows furrowed at the smooth texture of the object, her sleep forgotten by the intruding curiosity. She sat up, steadying the rollers lodged securely in her hair, and held the paper in her hands, rotating it to make sense of the giant block letters soliciting her focus. The obnoxiously red letters jumped at her, blaring the name of the National Enquirer.

Her eyes roved over the tabloid magazine, taking in the audacious method of exploiting the lives of simple people, and found a blown-up image of Daniel on the cover. In the photo, obviously taken directly up against the tinted glass of the car, Daniel bore a surprised smile on his lips, slightly retracted from the sudden imposter. Betty leaned closer, snatching her glasses from the nightstand, and squinted at the shadowed figure beside Daniel. She saw herself, smiling broadly as she ignored the photographer, her hand visibly holding Daniel's elbow.

Her eyes bulged, migrating to the headline which she dreaded reading. **Daniel Meade's Wicked New Lover!**

Her breath lodged in her throat. She frantically flipped through the flimsy pages in search of the fraudulent article that undoubtedly would spark a new string of speculation and gossip. Finally finished with thumbing, her attention settled on the main spread of the tabloid.

The headline was the same, with a mere shifting of wording, and the article was a good two pages long, quotes randomly strung out in the center while candid picture blurbs added volume to the allegations. Beside the headline, following the exclamation point, was the poster for Wicked. And splashed on opposite sides were large cutouts of each of them, smiling at the audience protruding their private lives. At the bottom of the first page was a timeline of their relationship, pieced together with small quotes from "sources close to the couple," beginning with the day Betty had first shown up at Mode and ending with the Wicked showing.

On the other side, beside Daniel's smirking figure were more pictures from Friday night. Looking down at the close-ups, Betty remembered the paparazzi that had trailed them. Perhaps the men had sold the pictures to the magazine for a hefty price; otherwise, they worked for the tabloid. In the inserts, Betty had her arms locked around Daniel's neck and Daniel's coat was covering her body, his nose nuzzled in her hair. The slightest hint of a grin rose from his expression.

Her eyes flickered down to the article. _"Daniel Meade, playboy son to the incarcerated Bradford Meade, was seen late Friday night canoodling with a woman that has now been identified as his assistant, Betty Suarez. How has the Plain Jane from Queens captured the heart of the one-time Forbes Most Eligible Bachelor of the Year? Sources close to the couple say—"_

Betty groaned, the paper falling limp in her hand as she reached up to hold her suddenly nauseous head. It was going to be a long day.

XXXX

An hour later Betty stumbled down to the kitchen, her limp limbs dragging at her sides, her loafers clunking on the wood. Her usually perky steps were weighed with dread, the tabloid in her hand the anchor to her ship. Her stomach was rolling somersaults, pitched into an unidentified feeling that had evolved the moment she'd closed the magazine and begun thinking about the impending day.

Not even Justin singing a popular tune from Mary Poppins managed to cheer on a smile.

Her father, Ignacio, greeted with the normal grin from over his stove, steam sizzling from the scrambled eggs jostling in the frying pan. The television next to him on the counter broadcasted a weather report, a man adorned in a suit frolicking across a back screen showing a heavy green and blue blurb migrating quickly over the city. The headline at the bottom announced that the severe storms were projected to hit later in the week. Justin glanced over his shoulder, giving her a quick once over, and sat in the chair at the breakfast table, reaching for his orange juice without a word.

Hilda, decked out in a vibrant cheetah-print blouse and black leather pants, hair curled to her elbows, cautiously approached Betty, extending a coffee mug to her. "Mornin."

Betty, slightly confused by her sister's sudden quiet generosity, took the cup. "Morning."

She glanced down at the contents, examining the clear substance. "It's tea. Chill."

With that said, Hilda spun on her spiked heel and joined her son on munching on toast. Betty briefly settled on each of the trio, puzzled at why her family was acting so much like fish out of water. Her father hadn't spoken; she thought he would've had the most to say about the rumor. The magazine crumbled in her hand, her lips twitching. She set the cup on the counter.

"You know I've seen it. I _know_ what it says. You don't have to act all weird." she exclaimed.

Hilda sipped her coffee, glancing at her. "Since when were you and Daniel…involved?"

Betty rolled her eyes. "We're not! Hilda, don't you think I would've told you if we were?"

"All you told me was that you kissed him."

Justin gasped, turning in his seat, his smirk giddy. "You kissed Daniel? When?"

Betty, ignoring the overzealous question, stomped up to Hilda then planted her hands on her hips. "I can't believe you think this crap is true." she stated, defiantly tossing the wrinkled tabloid on the table.

"I don't, it's just, jeez, Betty…" Hilda stood, glass in hand, and depleted the remaining coffee into the sink. "He's your boss. He's a playboy."

"You kissed Daniel?" Justin asked again.

"Don't you think I know who Daniel is. I know almost everything about him. I mean, I'm his assistant—"

"That doesn't mean you _know_ him, Betty." Hilda interrupted, turning to brace her hands on the sink edge. "You know how he operates. You can't get involved with Daniel Meade."

"Can I decide that for myself?" Betty said.

"Okay, girls, that's enough." Ignacio said firmly, lifting the frying pan to ease the eggs onto a plate. He glanced at the clock. "Hilda, take Justin to school. He'll be late."

Justin jumped from his seat, his smile untouched by the minor cat fight. "You kissed Daniel?"

Betty sighed, her shoulders sagging. "Yes, Daniel and I kissed."

"Aw." Justin gushed, titling his head to his shoulder.

Betty narrowed her eyes at the young man and ruffled his black hair, which resulted in a painstaking yelp and both of his hands flying up to smooth down the static strands. Hilda snapped her fingers at him, quipping hastily to get him out the door, sending a second disapproving look at Betty before following him through the living room to the front door. Justin slung his messenger bag over his shoulder, adjusting it to a comfortable point, and started humming loudly as he traipsed to the door.

"Betty and Daniel, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G." Justin began to sing, flinging the front door open to reveal the sickly blue painted sky. "First comes love then come marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage."

Betty rolled her eyes again, smothering a smile, and waved them out the door, Justin's penetrating pipes audible even well after Hilda's car started. Once the engine's cry in the February air roared down the street, two red dots bouncing around the corner into the yellow stretch, Betty heaved a heavy sigh and eased into the chair that Justin had occupied.

She folded her hands on the tabletop, her hair sliding forward to curtain her face, and leaned over her hands, chin tucked into her chest. Ignacio set a plate of food in front of her, pushing it closer to her like a father trying to coax his little girl to take her medicine. He smiled, silently encouraging her, when her eyes met his. Daughter picked her food; father went back to work.

XXXX

Standing in the elevator, the doors slid back and Betty prepared to run. Every instinct in her body told her to light the G on the board and not look back. But she stood, frozen, clutching the strap of her purse tight against her side. Her face was blank of emotion, yet her insides were crawling with nerves. Butterflies that had been roaming insects in the cab were now swarming her stomach, crumbling the calm poise she was sure she was going to compose.

She had a feeling about this. She couldn't explain it, but as she'd taken the trip up to Mode's floor, a feeling had manifested in the pit of her stomach. She tried to blame it on nerves at what ridicule was waiting for her or on the stress of knowing she had to confront Daniel about the tabloid, except it didn't feel like either. It, actually, didn't feel like anything. It was more an empty gut feeling than anything bad or good. Somehow she just knew today was going to be bad and that convinced her even more to run home.

Glancing through the small window the cubicle offered, nothing at Mode looked out of place. The same well-manicured men and women were manning the front desk, headsets perched on their heads, speaking quietly but forcefully to the caller. The magazine's stylists were making their morning runs from the Closet to their offices, pushing a rack of various articles of clothing across the marble floor. A pack of clothed Victoria Secret models were clustered in the conference room, munching on a platter of celery and carrot sticks, discussing something with two men talking to a speaker. And Marc was right on time, stationed at Amanda's desk for the ritual weekend gossip and scorn.

_Maybe things won't be as bad as I think, _Betty thought, trying and failing at convincing herself.

Sucking up her insecurity, she stepped into the lobby for the start of a new week. Her heels clanked on the floor, weaving past writers and photographers rushing to meet deadlines, waltzing down the fluorescent hallway straight to Amanda's desk.

Amanda pulled a package wrapped in brown paper from underneath her desk, her perfectly applied lipstick sneering as she handed the unidentified package to Marc. "Here. Take this to Wilhelmina. I came in this morning. It's from Idaho."

Marc giggled. "Idaho? You-da-hoe." Amanda snarled at him, her face contorting in disgust. Marc frowned dramatically, tucking his chin into the crevice of his palm. "That time of the month again, sweetie?"

He extracted his finger from curling around blonde hair when Amanda rolled her eyes, directing his eyes towards Betty and saying something quietly to Amanda that was undoubtedly about her. Betty kept her head hung high, rounding the circular desk, ignoring the fact that Amanda had shoved something underneath the binder pried open in front of her.

"Hey, Chimmy-chunga. How was your weekend?" Marc asked, his face wearing his trademark mischievous smirk.

"Oh, marvelous." Betty replied, breezing past him. Then, she spun on her heel, walking backwards. "I went sky-diving."

"Ooh, exciting." Marc said. "Buh-bye now."

Betty continued on to her office, which was silent just like every morning. She went through her routine; turn on her computer, organize the papers over-seizing her box into two piles, check e-mail for important last-minute meetings or schedule changes, listen to messages, order Daniel's morning coffee and bagel, return calls if necessary, check online for any improvement's on Mr. Meade's court case, and so on.

Thirty minutes after she had arrived, coffee and bagel appeared from a nice man in the cafeteria. Ten minutes later, Daniel thundered in, ranting curses under his breath as he tore at his tie, angrily slamming the door and throwing his coat and briefcase on the leather couch. The pound of the door startled Betty, causing her and every one else in close range to flinch. Betty watched him lock his hands behind his head, inhaling and exhaling, staring out the window at neighboring New York City.

She studied him standing there, dazed out the window, like a statue frozen in the realm of time, mentally debating whether or not to disturb him. The pro and con list in her mind rattled on, listing every reason to go in and every excuse not to. He needed to be told about his messages and a few calls to return about potential designer contracts, yet something caused her to hesitate. She had never seen him that angry before and the thought of being shot in the line of fire sort of frightened her. If Daniel made a public scene—which was unlikely—there would be no end to it. Especially considering that she desperately needed to talk to him about the tabloid floating around the city proclaiming that they were now an It-couple.

His bagel and coffee simmered next to her hand, wrapped and sealed, ready to be taken off, the coffee rippling from every slight graze. Betty inhaled and collected the items, ending her deliberation, striding around the desk to the shut door. After trying a few different positions, she managed to balance the bagel on the crook of her elbow and open the door without dropping anything.

Daniel sat in his chair, hands buckled on the back of his neck, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling as he exhaled the anger from his system. Betty carefully set the bagel and coffee in front of him, certain not to make any sound, and waited patiently, hands laced in her lap. Even if something had happened, Daniel couldn't skip out on his job…as much as he complained. Betty had showed up to work and he would have to handle the same.

Betty cleared her throat, rocking back on her heel. "Daniel…um, are you all right?"

Daniel didn't respond immediately. His voice was low and simple as he choked out an, "I'm fine."

"Oh, okay. Then you should probably know that Patrick Dempsy's publicist called wondering if we were still interested in doing an interview with him about his newborn twins. And we should probably get those pictures from the Sundance Film Festival—"

"Betty." Daniel groaned, abruptly looking up at her. "Not now, okay? My…sister just informed me that we'll be hosting a fashion show in ten days for Pristine's spring collection. Apparently she announced last night."

Betty immediately felt herself sink into the couch. Her eyebrows furrowed. "What? She can't do that! Not without your approval."

"She can. She's my partner."

Betty ignored the taste of disdain from Daniel's mouth at the last word. "Exactly. She should've discussed this with you before securing any fashion show contract. This is ridiculous." Betty paused. "Wait? Who's Pristine?"

"This little designer wannabe from Alex and my childhood. She is now one of our Designers to Watch." Daniel shook his head, standing up. Betty grabbed his jacket and handed it to him as he stalked over to her, fidgeting with his cuffs. He shrugged on the jacket and started buttoning. "Would you send out an e-mail stating that their will be a staff meeting at,"—Daniel quickly glanced at his watch—"ten?"

Betty nodded. Daniel's shaking hands clumsily buttoned the jacket together, the man staring down at his disoriented limbs, his mind nitpicking at Alexis once again for upstaging him and sabotaging his race. Betty stepped forward and took the lapels of his jacket in her hands, meticulously smoothing the wrinkles, then clasped her fingers around the base of the silver periwinkle tie. She pushed the knot up, tightening it around his neck, refusing to meet his eyes that she could feel were on her.

She smiled sweetly up at him finally, retracting her hands from his attire, and fled the room, marching to her desk without a word. She collapsed in her swiveling chair and pulled up her e-mail account, beginning a new message adjusted to send out to every computer on the floor.

**To**: Mode Magazine Staff

**From**: Daniel Meade's Office

Mode magazine will be hosting the month's Designer to Watch first fashion show parading her new spring collection in exactly ten days. A mandatory staff meeting will be held at 10 a.m.

XXXX

**A/N: **I hope this chapter was accepting. The next chapter is going to be comical and then the chapter after that is going to turn serious. Just letting you know. Please read and review.


	6. Fairytale for One Night

**Authors Note: **Thanks to everyone who has read this story from the beginning. Thanks for sticking with me. I hope that I've kept you entertained and interested.

XXXX

"Good morning everyone."

The Knights of the Round Table, clamoring to their seats in a hurry, exchanged nods with their King Arthur, neatly setting their weapons on the clear table top, hands folded on top. Daniel breezed into the conference room, a white binder secured under his arm, glancing around at the various assortments of staff writers, photographers, assistants, and publicists. He positioned himself in front of the table, plopping the binder down, and flipped it open to review the known information.

He cast a quick look at Betty sliding into the chair at his side and nodded at her encouraging smile. "First of all, I'm sorry for the short notice of this meeting. I hope everyone had a pleasant and relaxing weekend. We're all going to need it for the next couple weeks. Alexis announced last night that we will be hosting a fashion show a week from Thursday for our Designer to Watch, Pristine."

A reverberation of dangling mouths and whispers circulated around the table. "We have just over a week and a half to organize an entire fashion and social event. This means everyone will be working on nothing but this show. I know that this task seems difficult, seemingly impossible, but we are not to let the public know that. This situation will be handled by everyone as if we have been planning this for months, and not just heard about it. This situation will be handled with the poise and calm that Mode is known for."

Daniel stared hard at the nervously shifting people around him then flipped a few pages in his binder, looking for something particular only to find it missing. Betty casually pushed a notebook towards him, the cover open to a long list of jobs and the people for them. "Jean and Carrie, get in touch with as many publicists, agents, and managers as you possibly can to invite them and their clients to his show. Peter, Lily and Lisa, Wilhelmina is waiting for you in her office to begin designing a layout to turn Bryant Park into a runway."

Over and over, Daniel read off the list of the duties and the employees assigned to each one. Publicists were in charge of getting in touch with Mode's contacts at major television networks. Cristina was already on the phone with models and setting up fitting dates. Kayla, the resident food critique and nutritionist, was told to assemble a team to call as many restaurants that would be willing to provide food. Lastly, the job of calling Tiffany's, record labels and other designers to assemble goody-bags was offered to anyone with extra hours on hands.

"Okay, get to work people."

Their assignments handed to them, everyone stood hurriedly, gathering their belongings and racing towards the mob flowing slowly through the door. It was like watching the first scene from the Devil Wears Prada as the many fashionable men and women dashed in their chic heels to their offices, rocketing into their swivel chairs and grabbing the phones from their cradles. Betty watched the mayhem unfold and rolled her eyes. So the show was in just over a week, a death sentence for any other profession, but there was no reason to act like it was the apocalypse. Yet that was the essence of Mode; everyone took fashion too seriously.

Betty was suddenly tugged to her feet by Daniel and dragged out of the room, cutting Amanda and Marc off at the door, feigned scandalous gasps following in her wake. Daniel's sentences were a mess of jumbled muttered words, spoken close to her ear as the pair jogged to the space outside of Daniel's office, too incoherent for her to actually comprehend. Confusion marked her face; her eyebrows were knitted in a statue V and her lips pursed quizzically. The only words she was able to understand were Pristine and singer.

Stopping cold in her tracks, causing Daniel to nearly fling back over his own feet, she held up her hands like an invisible stop sign. She vaguely noticed the Gossip Queens deliberately walking slowly back to Amanda's station, hoping for any information to eavesdrop on. "Okay, you'll have to repeat all of that again. Louder. And slower."

"I need you to inform Alexis that I'll be dropping in to talk to her sometime today or tomorrow. And Pristine has requested that a performer sing throughout the show so could you please call around and see who's available?" Daniel asked, heaving a sigh.

"I'll call Alexis. Is there anyone in particular Pristine or you want?" Betty asked, retreating to her desk to jot down the assignment on a sticky note.

"Anyone you like." Daniel answered, smiling at her when she looked up at him from behind the curtain of hair.

She nodded, smiling at the small token of creative freedom he was giving her. He waltzed over to the bulging white door, about to duck into his office, when a thought struck Betty. Earlier when she'd conjured the courage to confront him on the tabloid showering the city, her chance had been snatched away. She'd thought it was for the best, and perhaps it was, but this was her extra window. Now that Project Dow was commenced, when else was she going to get another opportunity to talk to him? And surely he had something to say. He may have been a regular season star, but he had to have _something_ to quip about. She had enough nitpicking points, enough to brashly criticize; she couldn't be alone in the scrutiny.

Maybe it was the reason for his rather reclusive and dejected mood this morning.

"Daniel!" she heard herself exclaim.

"Yeah?" He poked his head out of the doorway, looking at her curiously, hand holding onto the doorframe to balance him.

"Sometime today, I think we need to talk about what happened Friday night." she said loudly, probably too loud for either of their liking.

Then half of his body was out the door. And he was stroking his tie. He was nervous. "Oh, um…let's not worry about that right now. We have things to do. We can talk about it later."

Eyes narrowed, Betty took three defiant strides towards him and was almost in his face. "It doesn't bother you that there's a tabloid about us going through the city and around the nation?"

Daniel hesitated two seconds longer than he wanted to. He cleared his throat, taking a quick sweep of the offices in close proximity, trying to ignore Amanda and Marc watching them from the hall. He really didn't want to argue over this right then. "Betty, can we seriously do this later? 'Sides, it really not a big deal. No one reads that crap."

Betty crossed her arms across her chest. "Except everyone in the office."

His jaw clenched and his voice sharply retorted, "Betty, just drop it."

With that, Daniel took sanctuary in his office, leaving Betty to scowl in astonishment. He had risen his voice to her. He never did that. Well, except on the few occasions where he had been blistering with anger at his father or his sister or some idiot who'd done something wrong. But when those had happened, it had never been directed at her. They were always rants that had escalated into shouted exclamations. Betty's eyes dropped and she went back to her desk. Not another word passed between the friends. They went about their business, remaining in their separate cubicles, never shying into the others space.

In the hall, Marc and Amanda had witnessed the spectacle, quietly shrinking back to Amanda's desk when the claws had come out. Using the polished desk as a phalanx, they shielded themselves from the words, their own sarcasm and caddy remarks their spears and wielding swords. They turned to each other, mouths open, eyes wide. No one had ever seen the wonder team of Mode magazine get into a public argument before. It was expected from the Meade siblings, but not from Daniel and Betty. There had been harsh words past before, yet, like

Daniel raising his voice to her, that had been for the benefit of the other. It was more like a comfortable criticism. This was a new playing field.

"I wonder what that was about." Amanda finally inquired aloud.

Marc gave a puff of laughter. "I wonder." he said, digging a copy of the National Enquirer from underneath the mountain of papers and files tossed onto the desktop upon the management absence and throwing it in her lap.

"Yeah, but that can't have bothered him that much. He's, like, the all-seen god of Page Six. There's something else going on." She continued, raking a hand through her puffed hair.

"Aw, Mandy. You're just sad she got in a tabloid—with him—first." Marc added.

Amanda whirled around to glower at him, but then her expression mitigated. "It's just not fair. I'm me. I'm fabulous, she's not. What happened?"

Marc frowned, his bottom lip plumping out, and patted her arm affectionately. They sat in silence for a minute, mourning the reality that a Plain Jane had entered the world of fashion in a tabloid, until Marc sprang up, clapping his hands excitedly. Amanda stared at him, a mixture of curiosity and annoyance written on her face.

"Ooh, idea!" he said, jumping off the counter and moving around his partner in crime.

"What?" she asked, leaning over to stare up at him.

"She hates attention, right?" Amanda nodded, rolling her eyes. "Let's make her the topic of everyone's talk."

"That's lame." Amanda dismissed, waving him off.

"Hey, I didn't hear you come with anything. Besides, we can have so much fun with it."

"Like?"

Marc shrugged. "Betty's a cheater."

Amanda turned up her nose, giving the idea a thumbs down. "Boo."

Marc planted his hands on his hips. "Then you come up with some, Little Miss I-Can't-Get-Over-Daniel-Meade."

Amanda swirled around, her legs slinging outward, and took Marc's hands in her own, a devilish grin creeping onto her angelic face. "Marc, gossip destroys lives…let's get started."

XXXX

"Christina!" Betty shouted, yelling again when there was no answer.

She continued to amble through the maze of clothes, flickering through aisle and aisle of bright tops, embroidered jackets, and rhinestone jeans made to fit the waist of three-year-old. Rifting through the samples, designer finds, and originals, Christina McKinney, one of Betty's limited number of Mode allies and friends, was no where to be found. Betty had already checked the back cubicle, the mirrors and the testing fabrics, still coming short of a Scottish woman.

Then, a cry from the depths of the Closet: "Betty, over here."

"Where's 'over here?'" Betty called, digging through racks of animal-lined coats and parkas.

"Accessories."

After fighting with a tangle of various colored trench coats and nearly tripping over two pairs of different sized Uggs, Betty finally emerged in one of the few tidy areas of the Closet. Christina, though a visionary designer, wasn't the most organized person when it came to her workspace. She called it creative ingenious; everyone else called it a pigsty. And there she sat, bent over her sketchbook, charcoal pencil doodling in one hand, cookie poised by her chin in the other.

Betty groaned, catching the attention of the blonde. She paused from her sketches. "Shouldn't you be working? I've heard of the impending apocalypse."

Betty groaned again. "I needed to get out of there. It's so…busy." Christina nodded, holding in her giddy opinion, and stood, abandoning her book on the desk and tossing her lunch back in its bag. Just then Betty noticed her own copy of the National Enquirer strewn on the ottoman. She grabbed it, running her fingers over the glossy and crinkled cover. "I can't get away from this thing."

"It's a big story."

Betty whirled towards Christina. "Are you going to make a big deal out of it? Please make a big deal."

Christina turned away from the shelves of shoes, knuckle on her hip. "Betty, really?"

"It's just…when I came in this morning I was expecting certain things so I was prepared for what I was going to say to the people who asked me about it. But no one cares."

"People around here, as air-headed and stubborn as they are, know that you and Daniel are…friends. You two getting together, romantically, is as comical as Courtney Love winning Miss America. So why make a fuss?"

Betty shrugged, setting the tabloid back in its place. "Amanda sure cares, even if she won't admit it."

"How do you mean?"

"I saw her drawing devil horns on my picture when I was coming here."

Cristina lip twitched. "That girl just needs a therapist—a girl one so she won't sleep with 'em. It isn't like anything happened anyway." When Betty didn't refute her statement, Cristina looked at her, but she avoided eye contact. "Betty, you holding out on me?"

A man decked in head to toe black with red-framed glasses strode in at that minute, oblivious to the women as he plucked out a pink ruffled dress then started thumbing through the rest of the items on the same rack. Betty grabbed a piece of paper from the desk and snatched the sketch pencil, jotting something in the corner then tearing it off.

"Oye, paranoid much?" Christina said, slightly amused by her clandestine story telling.

Betty handed her the note, keeping her eyes on the man who'd finished looking for whatever. He left as swiftly as he arrived, never speaking a word. Christina unfolded the note. Her eyes widened, hand flying to her gaping mouth. In Betty's sloppy handwriting was '_he kissed me!'_

"Gah! Betty!" Christina shrieked incredulously.

Betty bolted to her feet then traced the length of the room. "I know, I know. It shouldn't have happened, right? But it just did. We went to the play, had some laughs and when he dropped me off at my house we kissed—twice! I don't know what to do."

Christina watched her pace. "Talking is a good start." She paused. "But men don't like to talk."

"I already tried that. I told him before lunch that we needed to talk about it and he just said 'no one reads it, drop it.'" Betty ranted, doing her best Daniel impression, deepening her voice loudly and fidgeting with an invisible tie.

"Try again." Christina suggested. "Maybe he's just stressed out by the show that got sprang on him."

"That's no excuse. It got sprang on all of us."

Christina tilted her head to the side, offering Betty a sympathetic smile. Truthfully she didn't feel any sympathy. She was threatened to bring up the discussion they'd had on whether Daniel loved her, but something about that felt unnecessary and completely inappropriate. It wasn't the time for that. Yet there were things she wanted to know. Like how many photographers followed them? Was it different being out on a date with Daniel Meade? Were people nicer?

Yet she left all those other questions and settled on the most significant and worthy one. "So, is he a good kisser?"

Betty smiled, collapsing on the ottoman. Se nodded. "Yeah. It was good. Soft. It felt right."

Christina smiled. "I can't believe you went on a date with Daniel Meade."

Betty rolled her eyes, mouth open to remark the statement she'd heard for most of the weekend, but was abruptly cut off by the clack of stiletto's on the marble ground and a sweet, "I'm here."

The woman that emerged was a vision of architectural vanity. Her three-foot tall legs towered underneath her taunt torso, their own skyscrapers, roaming up and up until absconding under a pair of Viscose-polyester shorts. The white tee popped out against her molten skin, her almond curls falling loosely over the nape of her neck, a cherry pendant peaking out. Christina and Betty gawked at the glamazon for a minute, oblivious to her pearly smile and cheerful greeting.

Christina broke from her trance first, moving towards her first. "You're late."

She took the woman's wrist and gently pulled her to the center of the patch. "Yeah, sorry about that. I had to drop my sister off at her work because her boyfriend took her car, again, and—"

"You're one of the talking ones." Christina said, a tint of annoyance in her tone.

The woman, however, didn't notice. She merely smiled broader and pointed at her tee, which read in scribbled cursive Little Miss Chatterbox with a plump blond girl chatting on a phone. "Yep. That's me." She stuck her hand out. "I'm Vivianne."

Christina extracted measuring take from one of her jacket pockets and wound it around Vivianne's waist, pulling it snuggly. "Oh, honey, you won't be here long enough for me to remember that."

Vivianne shrugged. "Are you Scottish?"

"Wait, Christina, why are you taking measurements?" Betty chipped in. "Isn't that the designer's job?"

"Well,"—Christina jotted down Vivianne's measurement then moved on to her bust—"Alexis calls it a favor to Pristine. Whatever that means."

"That's dumb. She should be doing it."

As the words filtered from Betty's mouth, she became aware of Vivianne, arms still outstretched, studying her thoroughly. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

Betty blinked. "Um, I don't think so. We've never met."

Suddenly a light bulb when off and Vivianne nearly leapt from Chrisitna's grasp. "Oh wait! You're on the National Enquirer with Daniel! You're his new girl." Vivianne paused, a look of dreaminess washing over her delicate bone structure. "Isn't he great in bed?"

XXXX

Two hours later Betty was back at her desk, skimming through a contact log on her computer, the illuminated screen reflecting on her glasses, with the phone balanced on her shoulder. The young woman on the other end of the line was ranting hysterically, her voice breaking as seeming sobs ruptured her throat, rambling about an important call from Ralph Lauren that she'd missed just before he boarded a flight. Her frantic desperation was now dumped on Betty who was looking for the number of the private jet airline that Mr. Lauren was using.

Finally, Betty found the file, clicking into it to highlight the gracious number. "Okay, I have the number. Now you have got to stop crying so I can give it to you. Okay?" She heard a peep come from the intern.

She recited the number slowly, repeating it twice before the entire chain of digits was safely logged into a book, on the computer and on a sheet of paper. "Okay, got it. Thank you so much."

"No problem." Betty said. Then she hung up.

Placing the phone back in its cradle, her eyes ventured to the clock next to the computer. It was almost six; people were packing up for the night and heading home, waving good-bye to co-workers and friends from the elevator before disappearing till tomorrow. She longed to be able to escape into the steel cage and return to the warmth of her home, but, unfortunately, she still had to call Alexis. It was her last thing to do for the day and her most dreaded. Glancing over her shoulder, she considered asking Amanda to do it for her, but she appeared too into filing her nails. Besides, it was Betty's job.

So she picked up the phone again, letting the sleek plastic slid down her palm, and dialed the memorized number. After three rings, the chipper voice of Alexis' new assistant bellowed a greeting. The man was an interesting specimen, acting almost as gay as Marc except no one actually knew which way he swung. He was new, after all.

"This is Betty. Put me through to Alexis." Betty said immediately, not pausing for pleasantries.

"Sorry, Betty, she's preoccupied right now." the man stated.

"This is Betty for Alexis Meade from her brother. Put me through, okay?"

"Oh, Daniel Meade. Yeah, she doesn't take his calls—" Just then there was shuffling on the other end, quickly followed by a girlish yelp.

"Hello?" Betty mumbled.

"Betty." Alexis' distinctive voice sounded.

"Alexis, hi. I have a message from Daniel." Betty cringed, wincing from the expected the blow to come.

"Really? What is it?"

"He just wanted me to tell you that he'll be stopping by your office sometime tomorrow."

Alexis paused. "Well, tell Danny that I have a life too and I'm not going to wait around for him. Tell him if he really needs to see me that he can come by around one when I'm in my meeting wit Pristine. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Alexis didn't say good-bye or make any other form of farewell; she just hung up, the drone of the dial tone following. Betty stared at the phone for a moment. Once again she'd been snatched into the middle of the infamous sibling rivalry, the tugging force and the messenger. The saying don't shoot the messenger had become her motto for she'd been playing tag with the two since Alexis' arrival—no, since they'd been forced to run the magazine equally. Yet that didn't seem to bind them any closer. If anything, it tore them farther apart because Alexis was the conniving one of the pair and Daniel spent his time trying to win the race or feeling sorry for himself.

Betty just groaned, tossing the notion to the back of her mind, and opened the bottom drawer to her left to retrieve her purse. Finally, she could go home. She could get away from the press and the stress of her job for several hours and fill them with sleep and the delightfulness of her family's Taco Night. She shut down her computer and replaced files in their correct order then she grabbed her notepad and wrote down that Patrick Dempsey's agent wanted the June issue of Mode to celebrate Father's Day.

Tearing the sheet off and putting her purse in her chair, she made her way to Daniel's office. He was slumped over his desk, left side of his face rested on the pile of papers, rhythmic breathing coming from his body, eyes closed. As Betty drew closer and closer, she realized that he'd dozed off. She smiled slightly, reminding herself that he as cute as he was slumbering, he needed to try to stay awake long enough to get himself back to his apartment.

Placing a tender hand on his back, she traced her thumb down the curve of his spine. He shuddered, his head lifting slowly. Betty could've laughed at his appearance. Half of his face was red, there were rings under his eyes, and his hair was matted to the side, clumping together in the center. He looked around for a minute, remembering his surroundings, then his weary eyes found her next to him.

He yawned, laying his head back down, still gazing up at her. "Hey."

Betty smiled. "Hi."

She handed him the piece of paper, which he took and read. "So, June?"

"Yeah. Celebrate Father's Day, they said."

Daniel nodded, the papers sliding with the movement. They stared at each other for a minute, neither mentioning the morning's quarrel, until Daniel slid his hand towards her. "Betty, I—"

"You know, Daniel, I really need to get home. I'll see you tomorrow." Betty interrupted, stepping backwards to her escape door.

He didn't stop her as she ran out. He didn't protest or call out to her. He just let her run. He didn't know where she was running to, but he let her run, one side of his body telling him to and the other part saying to go after her. But he didn't move. Betty grabbed her bag in a hurry, twisting the straps around her wrist, and bolted down the fluorescent hall, winding around Amanda's night to the elevators.

She jabbed the down button and folded in her hands in her lap, staring up at the red numbers blinking the floor number it was passing. It was at three; they were on seven. She didn't know how, but she had a feeling she had known what he was going to say. And she had to get out before it happened. If she'd let him go on, there were no rules to what could've happened. She knew he was going to talk about Friday night and, though she had instigated the talk earlier, suddenly she didn't want to hear it.

She didn't want to hear that the kiss was just him being polite. She didn't want to hear that there was no potential. She didn't want to hear anything that would hurt her, though he would say he never meant to. What she wanted was to believe that something had showed itself that night and that it was right for the time being. She wanted to believe that she had lived a fairytale for one night.

The steel doors slid open, revealing an empty box, and she stepped inside, adjusting her purse on her shoulder. She pressed the ground button, the engraved G illuminating. The doors closed with a ding and she vanished from reality. Then the doors pried open again.

"Betty."

XXXX

**A/N: **Cliffhanger! Hey, does anyone know the name of the play and the song that Justin performed in the season finale last Thursday night? Sort of important.


	7. Breaking the Bond

**Authors Note: **Hey everyone! I'd just like to say, again, thank you to all the reviews that I've received for this story and thank you for the support. I wouldn't have continued if there had been no faith here. And thank you to everyone who answered my question from the last update; I had an overwhelming amount of answers. We really know our fanverse, don't we? So, thanks, and without further adu, chapter seven, the fight.

XXXX

_I'd take another chance, take a fall  
Take a shot for you   
And I need you like a heart needs a beat  
But it's nothin new   
I loved you with a fire red-  
Now it's turning blue, and you say...  
"Sorry" like the angel heaven let me think was you  
But I'm afraid..._

It's too late to apologize, it's too late  
I said it's too late to apologize, it's too late   
-Apologize, OneRepublic

XXXX

"Daniel, what are you doing?"

Betty stared through her red-rimmed glasses as Daniel sauntered into the elevator, his face set, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side. Betty took a few steps back until she felt her back touch the steel railing, the support acting as hands pushing her back into the ring. Daniel looked down on her, stuffing his hands in his pant pockets, his knuckles bulging in the dark fabric. He didn't say a word. The doors closed, confining them in, and they disappeared from the prying eyes.

It was just them, and the elephant crowding the small room. Betty watched Daniel expectantly, waiting for his charm to switch on so he could at least utter a word long enough to convince her he wasn't completely catatonic. Since, by the look on his face, it looked like the grim reaper had stolen a very important part of his brain.

She opened her mouth, pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose, and was ready to say something clever about his abrupt silence when he beat her to the bunch. "I'm not avoiding you." he stated firmly, leaving it at that.

Betty's careless eyebrows rose, waiting for him to add an explanation to his all-too-simple statement. Except the continuation never came. She shook her head, jogging the disappointment from her mind. "What?"

"I haven't been avoiding you today." Daniel said, repeating himself. "I know you probably think I have been, avoiding you and this thing we have to talk about, but I didn't mean for it to come out that way."

_Oh, _Betty thought, her eyes downcast. "Daniel, it's like you said earlier, it's no big deal." She found herself chuckling as she said the last bit.

Daniel licked his lip, analyzing the four ceiling corners. "But it's a big deal to you, Betty. You want to talk about Friday night and I've been…distant about it."

Betty sighed and checked on the progress of the floor transferal; the number five was illuminated in bright red in a text box, the sticks reconfiguring with every passing floor. She guessed they had less than thirty seconds before the door opened and they'd be naked in front of the population of the foyer. They could only have longer if they continued this conversation outside the privacy of the steel box. She examined Daniel's expression, noting the pleading in his eyes, a look that he wore rarely, generally only under desperate moments.

She crossed her arms over her chest, her purse thumping against her stomach. "You want to talk, you have my ears."

"This is a two-way road. We're both talking." Daniel corrected. If he was about to bare all, he wasn't going to be the only one doing the soul searching.

"Okay, start. You're wasting time."

As the words bit from her mouth, Betty couldn't help but hear the bitter anger reverberated in her tone. Her exuberance for this man was wearing thin, but she couldn't really blame herself for being agitated. He was always doing this; too afraid to ever come clean in public, he stalled till the last possible minute to talk his way out of a debacle. And she was left cleaning up his mess. They were a spectacle in their crisscross dance.

Daniel tilted his head back, buying himself time to think over what was needed to be said and how. He'd rushed into the scene blind, unprepared for the vulnerability needed to salvage a friendship from plundering, needing to make amends or risking living without confidence. If he didn't have Betty in his life, as a friend or whatever else she could elevate into, he wasn't sure how topsy-turvy his existence would be. He knew that sounded cliché and a bit melodramatic, but he believed in the words. They never felt more real. Now he just needed to muscle the courage to insure that never happened.

"Friday night…was not mistake." he started, bringing his head upright again so he could gauge Betty's reaction to every sentence. "I didn't want to talk about that night in front of everyone because I hadn't decided what I felt about it yet. It was a surprise, but I won't lie and say I didn't feel something then, because I did. I've thought about it all day, trying not to feel guilty about snapping at you—though I probably should—and I figured out that we can't jump. Not yet. I love you, Betty, you know I do. But I'm not in the right mind set to start a relationship right now. It's not in my cards.

"It took me a long time to get over Sofia, and I think I still have a few lingering walls to break down. I'm not prepared for any inkling of a commitment. So if you and I got involved now my heart wouldn't be fully in it. And I couldn't do that to you, Betty. You don't deserve that. I don't really deserve you."

Betty nodded, tucking her chin to her chest to hide the tears threatening to unsheathe if anything else resembling the lines just broadcast were spoken. She hated this. She hated that she was about to cry over him…again. Why was it always him? Maybe because it _was_ him. He had taken her heart with one kiss and now he was unknowingly stomping on it. She ground her teeth, forcing herself to compose the dignity that she had left. She wasn't going to let Daniel Meade see her tears because he expected stability and strength, not a crumbling girl.

Her head rose and she choked on a smile. "You're right. Neither of us are ready for anything considering the mayhem that's happening in our lives, what with our family issues and Alexis coming back and Henry telling me he has a girlfriend and all the other drama." Her eyes drifted from his crestfallen face to the box above his head. One floor away. Better to end this now. "I think, Daniel, that I'm not Miss Playmate of the Year. That's whom you want in your life. And that's not who I am."

A smile broke out on Daniel's face. "Exactly. But I have learned something from all of this—"

"And what's that?" she asked, peering around him as the doors slid open. She could see the chaos of people lobbying around, chatting wit others and munching on a few late night files. "That you finally recognized how superficial you are sometimes?"

The question snapped Daniel from one mod to another. Just as Betty was to weave around him to escape the cage, his arm latched out, blocking her way. He punched the stall button on the sidebar and the doors closed, locking them inside again. Betty glared at his hand; had he just intentionally trapped her in with him for the second time?

"What the hell was that?" she screeched, shoving his hand down.

"No, what was that?" he fired back, his hand whipping out to block the button that would open the door, granting her the escape door.

"Ugh!" she groaned. "What do you want from me, Daniel? I listened to you. What do you want me to say?"

"Start by explaining that little thing you just said."

Betty stared at him, her mouth open. He'd cornered her. He had her caught digging herself a hole. There wasn't an explanation to what she said. It was a moment of anger. She'd just said it. Unfortunately, that was the thing with fighting with someone you care about; things tend to burst out that you always thought, but can't exactly justify. She struggled to figure out what to say, desperate for a ladder to submerge her from her hole, but it was like the ladder was ten feet away and she didn't even have a shovel to stand on.

She suddenly felt claustrophobic. Her breathing became frantic, her eyes longingly pinned on the door. She wanted to get out. She wanted to bolt with all her might. Perhaps it was more need than want.

She finally sighed and threw up her hands. "I don't know what I meant. I was nothing, okay?"

"No, it was something. People always know what they mean. Your turn to talk, Betty."

She pointed an accusing finger at him, jabbing his chest forcefully. "I don't get you, you know that? You're the most complex person I've ever met! One minute you're all cool and confident, I can do this, then the next you complain like you're the lowest person in the world with no self worth. You're my best friend, Daniel. And I actually want to be with you! But, hey, maybe you're right. Maybe we should just stay friends. But that doesn't mean you don't deserve me."

"I don't! Betty, you're more than I am. You're good and you're pure and optimistic and I'm…I'm Daniel Meade: Manwhore."

Betty's eyes widened, an incredulous scoff coming from her throat. "I cannot believe you just pulled the name card on me as an excuse. Daniel, that is such a load of crap." She tossed her hand at him, turning away from him to collect the flames on her tongue.

"You know the real reason you don't want to get into a relationship with me or the reason you don't have any at all? It isn't because of who you are, or that you think you're not good enough, or that you have commitment issues. No, you don't have relationships because you're afraid. And because it takes work. After Sofia, you stopped trying because it was easy. It's easier to sleep around so then your heart isn't involved and you can't get hurt again. You don't care if someone is getting hurt at your expense, that doesn't matter! In a relationship you have to put yourself out there for the world and that scares you out of your mind. That's why you don't have relationships."

She breathed in heavily, exhaling the air from her lungs sharply. She swiped at the tears that spilled down her cheeks, the same ones that had broken her voice during her tirade, and found herself unable to look at Daniel's sympathetic face. She couldn't believe this.

He reached out to touch her shoulder. "Betty…"

She shrugged him off, brushing past him defiantly, and punched the button, waiting for the doors to open. "Don't do that, Betty, don't walk away." Daniel cautioned, gripping her shoulder.

"Why not? You do it all the time." She wrenched free from his grasp and burst into the lobby, her heels clinking on the marble floor, her arms hugging her quivering body.

She heard Daniel call out to her, his voice pained. Against her better judgement, ignoring her conscious, she turned around to face him, finding him standing just outside the elevator doors, his chest heaving. If she thought his voice was the epitome of pain, she wasn't prepared for the wear of his face, noting the frown deepening on his features.

She licked her lips, clearing her throat she could get out the last words. "Maybe it's better if we just be friends. It'll be better for both of us."

Without another word, she trotted out of the building, never giving Daniel a chance to defend himself or whatever they'd become. Like the tabloid, they'd both just ignore this incident, leaving it to be another elephant in the room, and move in tomorrow with the same ease that kept them in the friend mode. It was where they belonged, right? Their bond was better as friends, right?

Then again, love made the bond. It can break it too.

XXXX

**A/N: **Brutal truth has come out. But was it too brutal? Tell me what you think. I'll love you.


	8. Sister Knows Best

****

Authors Note: I'm so happy with the strong reaction for the previous chapter. I'm so grateful for it. That fight was honestly the easiest and the hardest thing to write; easy because I just wrote whatever that came through my fingers, but hard because fights are always hard to write, but I drew inspiration from fights from my own life and incorporated them in Betty's feelings. So, thank you, again.

Oh my gosh, before I forget, I read the cutest thing over at Daniel and Betty's livejournal site. Apparently everyone on the set of Ugly Betty has become so close to family, with working together and such, that America Ferrara started crying after taping the season finale. Eric Mabius told some magazine about it and he even said that he "just loves her." Aw. Okay, continuing on with life.

XXXX

__

Goodbye to you  
Goodbye to everything that I knew  
You were the one I loved  
The one thing that I tried to hold on to

We the stars fall and I lie awake  
Your my shooting star  
-Goodbye to You, Michelle Branch

XXXX

Betty ambled through the threshold of her house, stepping out of her heels and kicking them to the side out of stumbling reach. The house creaked in the silence, whining against the frozen panels, beckoning her into its warmth. The place was familiar and she careened against the embrace. After that fight with Daniel all she wanted was to curl up in her bed.

"Betty? Is that you?" came a shout from the depths of the house.

She shrugged off her coat and draped it over the staircase railing before segwayng through the halls, following the sound of chiming music and the clank of heels on tile. Her arms limp at her side, she entered the kitchen from the back doorway, bursting in beside the stove. Hilda hovered over the appliance, one hand gripping the handle of a pan jostling and the other jabbing the wooden spatula in the contorted eggs. She scrambled the clumps of yellow egg, sizzles echoing with each toss, thrusting the pan around to escalate her limited cooking skills.

Betty braced her elbows on the counter, depleting her chin in her conjoined hands. "What'cha doing?"

"Justin's still hungry. I agreed to make him eggs." Hilda answered without a second thought.

Betty glanced around her. There were no traces of dinner on account that the clock striking ten above her head. She missed the family time for work, skipping a meal to lose energy in a fight with her boss. "Where's he at?"

She knew the answer, but she waited for it anyway. "In his room. I think he's practicing for an audition next Friday at school."

"What play?"

"West Side Story."

Betty nodded. He'd been talking about the audition for a week, begging any available relative to run lines with him, high on the sugar of the stage. "Hey, um, when are we going to know Dad's court date?"

Hilda sighed. "Papi says the lawyer's still negotiating a date and that we should expect it to be set for sometime this week."

She abandoned the eggs, gently setting the spatula against the edge of the pan, and reached to her left to grab a plate from the cabinet. She slid the eggs onto the polished clay, turning the knobs off with a swift flick of her wrist, and left the plate in front of Betty momentarily while she dropped the pan and spatula in the sink. Betty folded her left arm in front of her, tucking it close to her body so her knuckle marked her cheek.

Hilda retrieved the plate. She took one look at Betty's defeated expression and stopped. Her head tilted to the side, a concerned crease appearing on her lips. "Are you okay, sweetie?" Betty shrugged, her countenance barely changing with the slight twitch on her mouth. Hilda laid a hand on her little sister's shoulder. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

She was in no state to object. Hilda strode out of the room, her heels clacking on the hardwood floor, and Betty straightened, stretching her arms in front of her. She half-heartedly fetched the carton of orange juice and poured herself a glass, replacing it in its place when she was finished and collapsing in a chair at the breakfast table. It was the same place she'd listened to Hilda breathe her warnings earlier in the day and now she was in the same place, about to detail the fight she'd had with the very man under fire.

She sipped her juice, her stomach rumbling hungrily, and stared through the doorway to the living room. A string of red and pink hearts canopied the edges of the house of romantic confusion. Each of the women under that roof were strangers to love, one who dove too fast in and another who affixed to security. Betty groaned; Valentine's Day was on Wednesday. Just another thing to worry about this work, as if there weren't enough.

Hilda suddenly appeared in her line of vision, dusting her hands in the air of her former obligation and sitting in the chair beside Betty to fulfil her next one. "Spill."

Betty stared at her for a minute, puzzled by her sister's sudden interest in her personal life. Well, it wasn't so sudden, but she knew that whenever she mentioned the name of her boss/friend her ears would be closed and she'd sprout the ever so common 'I told you so.' So she hesitated. The last thing she wanted was for her sister, an opinion she valued, to get another view of Daniel, especially a negative one.

"Betty?" Hilda said. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Betty forced a weak smile, shaking her head with a chuckle. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just tired."

"Liar. What happened?"

Betty opened her mouth, about to open the door to the fight that may or may not have just decided the future of her friendship with Daniel, then thought better of it. She twiddled her thumbs, drumming her fingers once against the glass. "If I tell you, let me talk. And try to be supportive."

Hilda pursed her lips. "Okay."

"I got into a fight with Daniel tonight."

Hilda nodded. "I figured." Betty looked up at her, but she only shrugged. "What was the fight over?"

"Friday night. Now that that tabloid's come out the whole office knows, but no one's said anything about it. They probably think it's trash like it always is. I wanted to talk to him about it, but when I asked him if we could he snapped at me. We sort of steered clear of each other for most of the day. I even spent a couple of hours with Christina to get away from him. But then, right before I left, I went into his office and told him about this thing with McDreamy, but he tried to say something. I sort of ran out before he could."

"And that's when the fight started?" Hilda questioned in a tone that encouraged to her continue.

Betty shrugged. "Yeah, kind of. When I got into the elevator I thought I was safe. We would go our separate ways for the night and not talk until tomorrow morning, you know? Except he freaking trapped me in the elevator. It didn't start as a fight, just talking about how he snapped at me because he hadn't decided how he felt about Friday night and didn't want to talk about it in front of everyone. Which I understand, I guess. But then we started yelling at each other and I wanted out of there so badly. He said it wasn't a mistake and that he loved me, but…" Betty looked away, pressing her lips together tightly. "He's not ready for a relationship because if he and I became a couple his heart wouldn't fully be in it. He said he doesn't deserve me." She laughed. "He…It's so stupid. He used the name card on me like it actually made a difference that he's Daniel Meade."

Hilda laced her fingers together. "Doesn't it, a little?"

"Maybe a little. But I don't care that he's a Meade. He isn't his father or his mother. He's not like them. I just don't think he sees that yet. Hilda, a part of me wants to be with him. But I think he's right. It'll be better for the both of us if we just remain friends."

"Betty, if you want to be with him, then that's the wrong decision to make. I may not be the perfect example of relationship bliss, but I know enough that if you love someone you shouldn't have to keep it at bay."

"Hilda, that's a nice notion, but it's what we decided. It's what we both want."

"It doesn't sound like it to me. It doesn't sound like it's what you want."

Betty shook her head. This was why her sister was perfect for talking to. She knew Betty well enough that she knew her thoughts by one small action or expression. And right now she had to force herself to not love someone. How is that possible? "It doesn't matter. Can you even picture us together? The girl from Queens and the playboy of wealth? Daniel and Betty. We're from opposite sides of the track and those two sides don't mesh well, if ever." Betty paused, biting the inside of her lip. "It's just…How do you fall in love with someone from one kiss?"

Hilda's eyes widened. "You're in love with him?"

"I think so. Maybe. But we can't be together. Cinderella's for fairytales."

"The sister I know doesn't believe that."

"The sister you know has never loved someone this much."

A silence passed between the sisters, weighted down by the confession of fidelity. Hilda reached over after a few minutes and took Betty's hand in her own, willing the woman to look at her. "Betty…sometimes the person we wanted all along is right in front of us and sometimes it takes extreme or critical circumstances for us to realize it. I think your kiss with Daniel was that circumstance. You understand it already because you're smart, but Daniel's not used to loving someone. He's still recovering from Sofia, so give him a little bit of space. He's probably still trying to figure things out. You know, even if a man sees the small things he may not see the big picture."

Betty craned her head back, curiously looking at her sister who had suddenly turned into a relationship guru over the day. "Where's all this coming from?"

Hilda retracted her hand and flipped her hair, sighing dramatically. "Experience." she said while twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

Betty laughed, ducking her head behind her hands, staring out through the rake. "So, what do I do now?"

"Exactly what you've been doing. Be his friend. If you let that fight cloud that connection with him, it'll break and you'd be losing someone very valuable. Whatever you do, Betty, don't befriend the dog that bit your hand."

"What does that mean?"

Hilda smiled and stood, scooting the chair under the table before traipsing into the hall towards the stairs. "Figure it out." she called.

Betty scoffed, numbly perched in her chair, her brain already working to calculate the meaning of the advice. Drawing on clueless, she downed her juice and rinsed the dish before putting it in the dishwasher. Hauling her purse on her shoulder, she trudged up the stairs, her bare feet tickled by the carpet, and closed her door, plopping down on her bed.

Don't befriend the dog that bit your hand. What the hell does that mean? 

XXXX

By the morning the whole office had heard whispers of the argument. It was the lover's quarrel heard throughout the building. Witnesses breathed verbatim details of the fight behind cupped mouths, rewarded with scandalous gasps married with incorrigible giggles. Instead of quietly back stabbing with the other suits, they took pride in badgering the center objects, Amanda leading the pack of scrutiny. It was as if they were observing animals in a zoo, a real office romance gone sour in the flesh.

Unfortunately, it wasn't just the attention of co-workers that the fight had picked up. Photos, interviews and videos were already plastered across the face of the media, broadcasting the "downfall" of the It-couple. Witnesses were asked for statements by reporters outside the building, video from inside at the end were grabbed by local news stations and pictures from inside the elevator were splashed over the internet, every trashy site nibbling off bites of dirt that they uncovered. In less than twenty-four hours it was pandemonium. Magazines and newspapers were already predicting how long the break-up was too last, only after thinking up new questions. What was the fight over? Was there infidelity? Was this a publicity stunt? Had Daniel's emotional instability following the incarceration of his father and the unveiling of his post-op brother/sister been to blame for the break-up?

Hollywood was high school; the gossip queens terrorized the school with vigilance.

XXXX ****

A/N: The last chapter was pretty hard to beat and I'm not sure I did it, but I hope this was okay all the same. Reviews come with cookies.


	9. Take Care of Yourself

****

Authors Note: I'm sorry for the wait on the new chapter. I suddenly decided what a perfect idea it would be to make a fansite for one of my favorite television shows and I walked in blindly so I'm trying not to regret it yet. But I will keep updating, no matter what. We're about to get to all the interesting occurrences. Hope you like the new chapter.

XXXX

I have seen fear. I have seen faith

Seen the look of anger on your face

And if you want to talk about what will be

Come and sit with me, and cry on my shoulder

I'm a friend.

-Cry, James Blunt

By Wednesday the perk in her step was back. She bound through the garish halls, through the transparent tube and into numerous rooms, clutching documents to her chest like an eager schoolgirl, and smiled at everyone who passed her. It was easier today; there was no worrying about her colleague's glances and no ignoring the whispers.

She skipped past Amanda and into her own open cubicle, flinging herself into her chair and spinning around like she had done after returning from working at MYW. The documents crashed onto the hard surface, the papers splattering on the glass, and molded together in a feat that would take meticulous memory. She noticed instantly that the brevity of human emotion that had been pinned on her since Monday was torn off her. She smiled inwardly, elated to be yesterday's news, yet feeling pity for the new subject. Yesterday afternoon word had gotten around the office that one of the women was having an adulterous love-child, going from taunting to the taunted.

This meant that finally things were going to tone down and she'd be able to move on. Not for long, she knew, for something else would happen and attention would turn to her again for answers, and her friends were tease her about her fifteen minutes, bringing up a skeleton in the closet like an chagrined anecdote. But long enough that people would forget.

She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of haughty squeals reverberating from the main hall. A deliveryman had just entered, carrying a bouquet of roses that starkly stuck out against his dull uniform, and called out a name, to which Julie Becker gaily jumped up at. Now a swarm of co-workers, those not visibly announcing their jealousy, surrounded her, awing at whatever verbatim tale Julie was telling.

Betty pursed her lips, smiling slightly, and returned to work, bundling the documents back into order after connecting the dots about what went where. Her eyes shifted to the clock above the fishbowl window; the slender second hand ticked past the large hand slumbering on the four and proceeded to cross the small hand on the nine.

She sighed heavily, picking up the phone and cradling it against her ear, fingers rapidly typing in the number for the lobby desk. "He's late." she muttered as if she was talking to someone on the other line instead of the ringing.

"No, I'm not."

Betty whirled around, her feet leaving the floor, the phone cord coiling around her wrist. Daniel arched an eyebrow at her questioningly, setting down his briefcase, and studied the flicker of surprise that evaporated from her features.

A man's voice introducing the front desk of Meade Publications suddenly filled her ear. "Never mind." she said, returning the phone back into its proper place. She stood up and defiantly crossed her arms over her chest, sending off a take-no-prisoners vibe that caused Daniel to rethink his stance. "You're late."

His mouth fell open some. "Am not."

"It's nine-twenty. You have a meeting with your mother in ten minutes."

Daniel narrowed his eyes at her. Despite that he towered over her in height and muscle, he was no match for her so he never attempted to argue with her. It would be the most futile action anyone every tried. He bowed his head then looked over at her, his bottom lip plumping out in his signature pout.

"Huh-uh. Don't give me that, mister." Betty said, turning her head away.

He shrugged and drew his hand from behind her back, revealing a long-stemmed sunflower twiddled between his fingers. "Forgive me?" Betty licked her lips, restraining a smile, and graciously took the flower from him. "Happy Valentine's Day."

She lifted the flower to her nose and inhaled the sweet aroma of the sunrays, her nose burying behind the yellow petals. "Thank you, Daniel. But, you know, you were forgiven yesterday."

Daniel shrugged and rocked back on his heel, satisfied that she liked her present. For days he'd been at a lost at what she would like since his routine gifts with other women was not truly her style and wouldn't impress her like the women he'd slept with. Her gift would have to be unique. Especially so due to their fight Monday night that, by morning, had been discarded as nothing more than a glitch in their friendship that would be discussed when necessary…and possibly when the rumors died down.

Looking out the corner of his eyes, he realized that the whole theater of him buying her a flower for Valentine's Day was only going to escalate the seeming fascination with them. But he didn't care, not as much as he first thought he would; Betty was back to being Betty in his life and they'd managed to brush the thoughts of romance out of their mind—for now. He still thought about it, but didn't obsess over the small particulars. Betty was an independent, compassionate woman that knew exactly who she was at any one time and to have her in his life just as a friend was a blessing in itself.

He cleared his throat, catching her attention, not unaware of the admiring smile on her lips. "I was going to get you another lily. Cause, in Greek poetry, the lily stands for tenderness and was referred to as the voice of muses. But, a sunflower just seemed to fit you better than a rose or lily could."

Betty tilted her head. "Someone tell you that?"

Daniel shrugged. "I Googled it."

She giggled and gingerly swirled the stem in between her fingers, the flower rotating in a blur of yellow and black, the smile on her lips evidence that she was enjoying the sentiment behind the gift more than the object itself. Then, as if it was breakable, she set it on top of her desk, her fingers gliding over the silk delicacy of the voices.

She took Daniel's arm and dragged him into his office, commanding that he drop his belongings, barely giving him enough time to strip off his jacket before lightly pushing him back out the door. "You cannot be late to see your mother. She just came from the prison so God knows how she's doing."

"Betty—"

"Nope, nope, let's go."

"Okay, I guess I'll pee some other time." he quipped, feeling her cringe behind him.

She stopped, bracing her hands on his back before he could fall on his butt, and shooed him to the elevator. "Go. Today."

Daniel rolled his eyes and obliged, sweeping around the obstacle course of coffee-hyped employees to the elevator. Betty waited for the elevator door to close before turning back to her desk, her eyes instantly snagging on the sunflower lying on her desk, a beautiful reminder of her place at Mode.

XXXX

Betty's index finger thumped against her pursed lips, her nose scrunched in concentration, studying the large roll of paper spread out in front of her. Her expertly meticulous eyes roved over the intricate maze of blue imprints, her distaste for the arrangement given to her escalating the more flaws she saw in it.

"I don't like it." she finally said, her face contorting, conveying the thoughts she wasn't keen on sharing loquaciously.

Daniel groaned for the third time, tipping his head back and staring blindly at the ceiling. "Why not?"

Betty only shrugged, not offering a sufficient explanation. Her eyes roved over the layers of blueprints engulfing the entire periphery of the workspace, not leaving one inch dry of blue ink and paper. In the twenty minutes since he had asked her to give him her opinion on which design to go with for the runway, the mission had evolved into rocket science, a feasible inspection that was proving to more time-consuming than it was initially supposed to be. Then again, it was Betty and she was a woman of opinions; he should've suspected this.

She pushed the blueprint of the moment aside, the paper parachuting into the air before deflating in the maybe pile, a stack specifically created for Daniel after she had discarded all of his other options. She fished out the next one, flipping up the right-hand corners of the sketches in the valiant search, and analyzed it carefully, trying to ignore the gnawing itch of Daniel's body hovering over her shoulder.

Then she quietly trashed that one, sending it into the rejection pile. "What's wrong with that one?" Daniel exclaimed, lunging his hand out over her shoulder to retrieve the ostracized choice.

She shimmied to the side abruptly as he leaned around her, craning her head to look at him through her thick hair, and narrowed her eyes at him. No matter how much of this industry was placed solely in his hands, he was still having trouble making decisions on his own. She didn't mind in the slightest, especially when it was something so small-scale as picking the runway design best for the Break Free theme.

Betty cleared her throat, catching Daniel's attention. He looked over at her, halting any movement immediately. "I just don't think it's…Mode enough. None of these have the Mode essence."

Daniel's shoulders drooped helplessly, spinning on his heel to face her. "Betty, it's just a runway. They're all the same. They're shaped like a T. And they're not supposed to be different."

"It's not _just_ a runway, Daniel. This is Pristine's first fashion show and it needs to be perfect for her. Sides, it's the details and details matter."

Daniel scoffed low in his throat, the incredulous sound blending with the amused chuckle. "Believe me, Pristine could care less about details. She's not your average fashion designer."

Betty rolled her eyes and scooted in front of him, brushing him away from the desk. She grabbed an unbundled roll that was leaning against the side of the desk, left to be forgotten until now. She slid the rubber band off with alacrity, an anxious smile on her lips. She dropped it onto the desk when she didn't find what she wanted.

"Couldn't we have one that's, like,"—She rounded her arm in front of her, creating a half circle—"round with a space in the middle? Doesn't MTV do it that way? Or maybe an arch?"

Daniel's eyebrow curved with each question, watching in puzzlement as she boxed herself in, using the notorious 'get the picture' finger connection. As she waited for an answer, or the dismissal, his upper body collapsed over the table. "Betty." he whined childishly.

"You asked for my thoughts." she said matter-of-factly, planting her hand on her hip.

"Yeah, but…" Daniel sighed, sounding like a child trying to throw a quiet tantrum, and laid his cheek flat on the papers, his hands shuffling them as they moved. "Just pick one."

"Okay."

Smirking mischievously, Betty picked up the first blueprint her hands could find and gently laid it over Daniel's body, the paper blanketing his back. He slowly turned his head so he could glare at her, not daring to move an inch of back muscle, but his menacing daggers didn't keep her from smiling.

"You suck." he stated simply.

She opened her mouth to remark when the phone rang. She instinctively picked up the phone from its cradle and held it to her ear, announcing Daniel's office. Seconds later, after a simply confirmation word, she hung back up and stared down at him.

"Pristine's models are here. You get to stare at women over lunch." she said, rounding the desk.

"Ooh." Daniel coed.

He extracted the blueprint from his back and tossed it on the table, smoothing out the wrinkles permanently fitted into the paper. Betty clomped to the door, noticing the flood of dress-clad models lining up at the door, and glanced over her shoulder, exchanging an 'oh my gawd' look with Daniel. He shrugged and, without another word, the half dozen women filed in, strutting in as if they already belonged to the runaway looking to hire. They were their superficial smiles and flaunted their work, leaving their physique instead of their personality land them jobs.

Betty wasn't a jealous person and she prided herself that she hadn't inherited that trait from anyone in her family. She had her moments when she wished for something that belonged to someone else, but aside from those brief infractions she had no reason to be envious. Even as she watched through the fishbowl as the models one by one walked for Daniel, pampering him with the usual flirtatiousness and innuendo, she didn't feel anything resembling jealousy. She didn't have any reason to be anyway. It wasn't like he belonged to her and they weren't involved in anything resembling a relationship, so why should she be jealous that he was, yet again, in a closed room with models? It was his job after all, right? She was just—

"Betty."

The voice made her freeze on the spot. She knew that voice. Swallowing, she turned around, agonized at having to be subjected to this awkward post-break up moment that dooms every ex-couple, or, in her case, almost-couple.

"Henry, hi." she said, finding no pleasantries coming to mind.

He shuffled his feet, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as that goofy smile appeared on his face. That silly smile that was going to be around her every day. That charming smile that had made her like him in the first place. That stupid smile that had, logically, caused everything starting with last Friday. She put on a fake smile and clasped her hands behind her back, backing herself into her desk.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, biting the inside of her lip. What was he doing on her floor?

Henry chuckled. "Um, I was actually just wondering if you wanted to go to lunch. So maybe we can talk."

"Oh." For once she couldn't find any words. Whether she wanted to go or not, her conscious couldn't decide and therefore she was rendered speechless. Over Henry's shoulder, Betty noticed Amanda yawning yet her eyes tediously watching them. Then a face flashed through her mind, the bubbly face she'd only seen days ago as lost as she had been on her first day. "Where's Charlie?"

"She's, uh…doing interviews all afternoon."

"Okay then. But not for too long."

Henry bowed his head, seemingly pleased that she'd actually accepted his invitation. Studying him, Betty concluded that he hadn't expected her to be so easily persuaded and she mentally kicked herself for appearing so easy.

From inside his office, Daniel was paralyzed in his chair. Clenching his fists together, he spied on the inaudible conversation in the next room like someone gawking at animals in the zoo or an accident on the high way. Even he knew going to lunch with the person that hurt you was a train wreck waiting to happen. And Henry had hurt her; he'd heard it in her voice that night. He suddenly felt an overwhelming feeling of possessive protectiveness as if he had to be her knight, the prince that begged her not to go with the wicked witch.

He struggled to catch sight of her next move as the models lined in front of him, but through the slender slivers of their curves he managed to snag the image of her withdrawing her purse from her desk. He jumped to his feet and darted to the door, throwing it open with such force that he thought it was going to fall off its hinges. Then he paused. Betty and Henry hadn't left yet.

"Betty." he barked, straightening the knot secured around his neck.

Betty and Henry instantly backtracked, whirling around to face the boss. "Daniel, I'm taking my hour for lunch."

"That's fine." Daniel waved his hand to the side then motioned for her to come over to him. "Just…can I have a word, please?"

Betty glanced at Henry, who looked panic-stricken by the unexpected intrusion, and held up a finger to him. She ambled over to Daniel, already a tidbit agitated by the imposition of Henry. "What?"

Daniel hesitated, losing the words connected with his brain, and watched his hand land on her arm. He looked down at her and stepped closer to her, coming within breathing range. "Take care of yourself."

Betty's eyebrows knitted together, wondering where this protectiveness was coming from. It was usually her that did the worrying for the both of them, everything from appointments to Bradford's court case dates. Then it hit her. Did Daniel know what was going to happen? He was a guy and had probably broken his fair share of hearts. What if this was his way of telling her not to go? She pushed the what if's and maybes to the back of her mind and shook her head, announcing, "It's just Henry."

Daniel wetted his lips and nodded. He trusted her, no doubt about that. He trusted that she knew what she was walking into. But that didn't settle the uneasiness in his stomach. His eyes found Henry watching them intently, a stern line on his lips, cringing when he realized what he was really getting into. He leaned close and kissed Betty's forehead, eyes still on Henry.

Within minutes the pair was gone, Daniel fidgeting outside his office as they went, making sure that Betty got into the elevator without incident. This newly acquired protectiveness startled him, but it only made him realize that he loved her and when her heart got broken again, he'd help pick up the pieces like she's done for him so many times before.

XXXX

****

A/N: Okay, so I was originally going to go through the Betty/Henry talk and the consequences afterward, but this ended up being longer than I thought, so I'm cutting the day in two.


	10. Stupid Cupid Stop Pickin on Me

****

Authors Note: I apologize for the delay in this chapter. I was rather difficult because it hit so close to home, which is basically why I needed to include it.

XXXX

Step one you say we need to talk  
He walks you say sit down it's just a talk  
He smiles politely back at you  
You stare politely right on through  
Some sort of window to your right  
As he goes left and you stay right  
Between the lines of fear and blame  
And you begin to wonder why you came  
–How to Save a Life, the Fray

XXXX

The restaurant had to be part of the plan. It had to have been pre-selected specifically for this one occasion. There was just something about it, something about the way the aroma flowed with the atmosphere of the apocalyptic discussion to come. It was as if the room was here only to serve one purpose: to prevent anyone from making a scene. Which made sense, Betty figured as she fiddled with the broccoli on her plate, cause in a crowded restaurant that's too loud for anyone to speak, there isn't any room for a scene.

Common knowledge would prevent her from making a scene. Common decency would do the trick as well. So she was left with the lingering question of whether or not Henry had this entire meal planned out, from the date of the month to ordering her food to the hope that she'd keep herself in check in public. And she would; she had so far. Why scrub that record?

She rolled a tree of broccoli to the other side of her plate, tumbling it over the mountain of dirty rice, past the chicken boulders, and watched its quest. With keeping her eye on her food she didn't have to look at him, didn't have to acknowledge the newly founded awkwardness that had founded the basis of this lunch. And why wouldn't it be awkward? It wasn't like either of them could attempt their dorkish flirting any longer. No, Henry had marred that possibility the moment he'd handed her back those tickets.

And she couldn't exactly review her recent life or what had come out of his betrayal. That wouldn't exactly be the best table conversation. 'Well, because you decided to dump me, Daniel persuaded me into going anyway. I had an amazing night with him, the play was more than I hoped for, and I'm so glad that I didn't let you ruin my night. There were these pesky stalkerarazzi's taking pictures of us after the play, but thankfully they didn't capture our kiss on film. He is such a great kisser, but because of those stupid tabloids we got into this macho fight that everyone knew about the next day. I think we're okay now. I mean, I think we both want to be together, but it's not the right time yet. Except I may be in love with him. How's Charlie? How are you?'

__

Yeah, Betty thought sarcastically with a roll of her eyes. _That would work well._

"How's your food?" Henry asked suddenly, peering over his thick black frames at her. A piece of chicken dripping in sauce disappeared between his lips, his jaw munching absent-mindedly.

She gave him a weak smile, nodding approvingly. "Good. Yours?"

The answer was unnecessary as they were both served the same thing. The plates that were once identical arches of art were now a scrambled painting left for debate. Yet he nodded, copying her acceptance, and stabbed a tree with his fork, the needles appearing at the roots. "Good." Then he paused, dropping his head.

Neither of them could look at each other for long. It was as if them looking at each other would bring the point across quicker and they'd be forced to deal with it before they were prepared. Than again, they were adults. What was really stopping them?

"So, um…" Henry shuffled in his seat, unfolding and refolding the napkin in his mouth. "Who's this Pristine we're financing?"

Betty shrugged. She didn't know anything about the woman other than her unusual opinion from Daniel. "I don't know. Word is that she's some recluse."

"Like Ray Kelvin."

Betty stared at him, astonished that he actually knew something about the fashion industry. Yet there wasn't a reason why he shouldn't. He worked at Mode; maybe not directly at the magazine, but in the same professional space. And he was a connoisseur about nearly everything in the world, as much knowledge as he could stuff in his brown-bedded head framed with geek glasses that had once upon a time made her heart skip a beat and palms sweat.

She cleared her throat, beckoning for an explanation. He just met her eyes shyly. "Just something I know."

There it was. The line that had instilled in her life like a cultural phenomenon, like the obsession she couldn't stop quoting. Like the bad memory from her past that she'd find herself remembering in the most random of times. _Crap, _she thought illy.

Her hands fell into her lap, her fork clanking on the clay plate. She didn't know if she could keep doing this. It was becoming too unbearable to sit here and pretend like what was about to happen wasn't going to happen. It was one thing to be in complete denial and to ignore something that it would disappear, but this wasn't something that could be wished away on a whim.

Lifting her hands slowly, her fingers itched the sanded wooden table edges, nails scratching notches, marking her place. She swallowed the conscious decision to placate with him. Action. "Can we not do the pleasantries?" she asked.

Henry, taken back by the suggestion and its bluntness, gently set down his own utensil, chin tucked into his chest to avert his reaction from her view.

He gathered his napkin in his hands, appetite lost, and tossed it on the table, meal over. He wetted his lips, clearing his throat, and finally met her eyes. "So, what happens now?"

"What you brought me here to do." Betty said, leaning forward, all ears perked for what lay ahead. "We talk. About Charlie. About that night. About where it leaves us."

"Where does it leave us?"

Betty shrugged. She knew where it left them to her, but her perspective was easily not shared by the man sitting across the table. "I don't know anymore. Just tell me what happened. That's all I want to know."

Henry hesitated. For a split second he couldn't bring himself to start. "First of all, I want you to know how I feel. I feel really repentant and I never wanted to hurt you. Things just happened and I know there's no excuse for that. There's no excuse for what I did. I just need you to know that before…"

Looking at his hands one last time, he began the story, regressing the days. It was the story that would stay with them for the rest of their years. The story that would right any wrongs and mend any wound. The story that both hoped had the secret message in a bottle pinned in their somewhere or at least a road sign telling them where to go. Betty listened as he rattled on the tale, enthralled in the mesmerizing words of inner demons and great debates. Of the angel and demon on either shoulder. Of the ups and the downs.

In the end it was the same story to be found in any bind of literature, reel of film and chord of film. The lost ballad of a couple so in love in the wrong place at the wrong time in their lives, leaving each detached from each other after the fallout. As one soldiered on in their home, the other literally moved on, relocating to the place that would bring in someone new. Like any Hollywood film, just as sparks were igniting for a new romance, the ex-girlfriend appeared out of thin air, wanting to reconcile. And the couple was together again, giving them a second chance.

The rest was news to Betty. It was all what she assumed, but never confirmed. Every detail from the night of Charlie's arrival to the very hour was laid on the table, no potholes in the road, without any holes in the warp. As the story came to a close, concluding with his brilliant idea of lunch, which he now sort of regretted, Betty understood the situation better. She even sort of hated herself for the many things she'd though about Charlie without getting to know her.

They sat there for a minute, silence in the emotion static air. Henry waited for Betty to say something, anything, but she kept her mouth shut. He rubbed his hands over his face, exhausted from the confession, waiting and waiting. He truly hated to see her this way, so much in pain and so sad by his hands. He almost hated himself. Here was this amazingly beautiful, independent woman who believed in everyone around her with the most unflinching spirit and now she sat inconsolable, possibly broken spirited.

"Betty, say something." he begged, extending his hand across the table.

She didn't accept his hand, didn't even acknowledge it with her broad smile. Instead she looked up at him, tears rimming her eyes. "What do you want me to say? Are you staying with her?"

Henry swallowed, feeling the walls divided Betty and Charlie crumbling. "I think so. Yes." Again she didn't respond. Just stared, off in her limbo. "Betty…please don't shut me out. I know this is hard for you and I really need you to express that. Tell me what you're thinking."

"I'm thinking…debating whether I should just walk out of here or laugh at the absurdity of this. But I won't laugh cause that's a defense mechanism, the opposite reaction that'll keep me from crumbling." Then she paused, placing one hand over the other. "I'm also thinking that you didn't want me. Cause if you wanted me then you'd be with me, but since you're not then you don't me in the same way that I want you."

"Don't think that—"

"But isn't it a little true? Maybe the slightest."

"No." Henry dipped his head between his hands cupped on his forehead. "This really sucks for me, Betty, and I know it does for you and I want you to tell me that. Admit that to me right now because that's the only way we're going to get through this."

Betty shook her head, her tongue sliding over her back gums. "That's giving in to what you want so you can feel better about what you decided to do—"

"Betty…"

"It's not even worth it. Henry, we're done. I think I've known that from the beginning. Too much was happening, too much was getting in the way. Wasn't it like something or someone didn't want us together? I saw it and I should've listened. But I didn't and I still plunged without any safety. And I got burned. I don't hate you, I'm not even made at you, I just…"

A tear slid down her cheek. It trailed down, undisturbed, a patriot of love. "I just don't think you realize how much you hurt me. For someone who said he didn't want to hurt me, you did a pretty good job."

Another tear preceded. Henry reached out again, the calvary chasing the wounded, trying to take the hand in allegiance. "Betty."

As his skin touched hers, she whipped back, withdrawing violently as if she'd been lashed. "Don't touch me." She wiped at her tears, smearing away the fatalities of war. "We can't control how we feel, Henry. That's the message in the fortune cookie. It's all about waiting it out. Which is exactly what we're going to do. Eventually we'll move on and maybe forget all this."

"I don't want to forget, Betty. I really like you—"

"Apparently not enough to be with me." Betty grumbled under her breath.

"I just want us to be okay." Henry said hopefully.

Betty pursed her lips, frowning. "I was okay Friday night. But when I'm around you, I'm not okay. So I think it's better that we're not around each other. For both our sake."

"Ah." Henry rocked back in his chair, fingers lacing together on the table. "The infamous Friday night, the odd ball couple heard around the world."

Betty glared at him. He heard. Of course he heard. Everyone heard. And now he was spitting it in her face, bringing up the topic that was taboo in her world. "So you heard about that."

"The world heard about it. 'Playboy Meade settles with Plain Jane.' 'Plain Jane not enough for Meade Mogul Heir.'"

She shook her head, brushing back her hair. "None of it's true."

"So they're lying?" Henry leaned forward on his elbows. "Diane Sawyer's lying? Giuliana Depandi's lying? The writers of Page Six are lying? People's website is lying?"

"Mainly. But they did one thing right. I'm just Plain Jane."

"You were never plain." Henry corrected softly.

Betty shifted back, putting distance between her and him. "You're just saying that cause."

He shook his head. "No, I'm choosing to. And I mean it."

"See." She tossed her hand at him. "How can you be so good to me and be with someone else?"

Henry shrugged, uncertain at how to answer such a trick question. It wasn't meant to be, but it was in all its underlining glory. When he didn't respond, Betty took the distraction as a sign to bid adieu. She picked her purse up off the ground and plopped it in her lap, fishing a five out of the depths of the abyss. She hoped it was enough to pay for her lunch. It definitely wasn't enough to recover her broken heart.

"I don't want things to change." Henry finally said as she began to stand, sitting up and looking up at her.

She gave a small smile. "Sweetie, if you really wanted that, you wouldn't have done all this."

Scene. Cut. The end. With her exit granted to her, she plucked a wrapped fortune cookie from the table, ripping open the flimsy paper seal and biting into the sugary cookie. The white paper stuck out like a life house of advice and reflection, offering up something new. Peeling the note from its crevice, she skimmed the words then, with a laugh, dropped it on the tabletop and walked out.

__

A thing long expected takes the form of the unexpected when at last it comes.

XXXX

Daniel was stationed at her desk when she ambled in fifteen minutes later. He dropped the magazine on the desk, feet flying to the ground from their propped up position, and took one look at his beloved friend before springing to his feet. Her purse dragged at her feet, defeat slumped shoulders half-heartedly tossing it to the floor, and her eyes were puffy and swollen from crying, molten skin shaded red that almost matched her glasses.

She was grief stricken and Daniel instantly knew why. And that he had to help her. He had to be there for her. Hence he cautiously walked to her, ignoring her curious look, and wrapped his arms around her. "Amanda, man Betty's desk." he shouted.

Betty shook her head, gathering herself emotionally, and pushed from his safe and warm arms. "Daniel, I'm fine. I promise. It's not a big deal."

Daniel gazed down at her. She was so stubborn sometimes. She just couldn't let herself break for a second. "I admire your strength, Betty, but you can do for a break." Bottom lip quivering, she allowed herself to nod despite herself. Just then Amanda trotted in, skidding to a stop in her high heels and smoothing out her too-tight dress. "And get me a class of water."

Amanda stomped out with a groan. Daniel draped an arm around Betty's shoulder, affectionately squeezing her, and steered her into his office as if he was the guiding force holding her together then gently set her on the couch. They stared at each other, a moment passing between them that was quickly broken by Amanda's entrance. She handed the glass to Daniel, careful with the water filled to the brim, then cast a suspicious glance at Betty, looking her up and down.

Daniel, noticing the unwanted attention, lightly shooed her to the door. "Out. Now."

Then he turned back to Betty, who had made a nest for herself on the couch, a blanket drawn to her chest. The tassels licked her cheeks, the perfume floating to her senses. She loved the blanket; it had been one from her childhood, something quite sacred to her. She'd decided to bring it to the office to add color to Daniel's office after another one of their all-nighters so if they ever fell asleep again then they'd have something to keep them warm besides each other.

Her attention snapped back as Daniel extended the glass to her. "Drink."

She graciously took it and drank the soothing liquid, finding her throat thickening, absolutely unable to swallow. As she drank, taking small sips one at a time, her eyes drifted to Daniel perched on a foot stool a few feet away, elbows on his knees, intently watching her. She had to extol him. He was taking better care of her then she would've been able to do. He was obviously worried, but these actions were definitely a step up from the usual. He was protecting her and being the friend she needed.

Now if only she could get him to stop staring at her. The glass half-empty, she set it down on the ground. "I'm fine, Daniel. Stop worrying."

"I'm…" Her eyebrows rose and he laughed. So he was. Was he that transparent when it came to her?

He stood and transferred himself to his own desk still littered with blueprints. His eyes flickered to her as he began to work again. He didn't accept the lie she'd just fed him about being fine—who was really _fine_ after breaking up with someone—but he understood she needed her space and he respected her privacy so he let her be. She just stared at the ceiling, letting her thoughts take a toll on her.

"So, no more Henry?" he asked after a few minutes, breaking the tranquil silence.

Her head lolled to the side, eyes connecting with his. "No more Henry."

No more words were said between them. They went about their day, locked in together, both comforted by the others presence. Knowing the other was there brought liberation to the afternoon, a certain strange reassurance of dependence. In every bind of literature, reel of film, note of music, the same story can be found. Perhaps this was the turning point of their story.

XXXX

****

A/N: Sorry for the length. I actually tried to model it after Breaking the Bond, but it turned out differently. Can you tell me if it was a good different or bad different?


	11. Everybody's Free

****

Authors Note: I haven't forgotten this story. I originally wasn't going to post over the Fourth of July, but that week rolled into this week and then I got swamped by writing—then rewriting—the first chapter to a new Red Eye fic that still doesn't feel right. Anyway, I'm hoping I can balance my time better. Here's chapter eleven.

XXXX

__

I know you've been hurting

But I have been waiting to be there for you

And I'll be there

Just helping you out whenever I can

-Everybody's Free, Quindon Tarver

XXXX

He was staring at her again. He found himself doing it more often, after the kiss, and it was gradually becoming a favorite past time, a habit that was forming that he didn't feel threatened or embarrassed by. He had never noticed it before, but there was something hypnotic in the way she worked, in how she moved that lured him to steal glances at her through the fishbowl.

In his daily sightseeing, her fumbling fidgets and mannerisms were teaching him more about her than she could ever do with her words. He would've preferred to say that he was only watching her out of pre-caution, that he was looking after her emotional imbalance, that he was just being a concerned friend with too much time on his hands. Except it was her as a whole that held him captive.

Through his peeping, her colors showed and he felt him falling deeper and deeper without a parachute. He saw the glimpses of vulnerability, the break from the strength of her public mask. He saw that her feet danced under the desk in a memorized number as she hummed along. He saw the small cracks of satisfied smiles that she rewarded herself with after finishing something. He watched her vigilance and noticed for the first time how her eyes robbed him blind. So many of the smaller things that absconded from others.

From his position behind his desk he felt like a school boy with a crush, one that watched his object of affection obsessively. Whatever the reason, he couldn't stop. He couldn't not observe the woman that had weaseled her way into his life. Even if she soldiered her way through without his consent, he was gracious that she had. He really couldn't picture his future without her in it. She was becoming a fascination.

She grabbed the phone from its cradle, the crease of concentration on her face, and punched in a number. He flinched, his heart sputtering, as his phone rang, drilling into the silence that he'd become accustomed to. Then the phone was in his hand and he stuttered a response.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her roll her eyes. "Daniel, you need to call Michael Fuchs. He wants to discuss how and when we'll be beginning construction."

The last word caught his attention, mentally toying with the word humorously. "Sounds complicated." She flashed him a dumb look through the glass. "Yeah, okay. I have his number."

Neither hung up. Betty continued to shuffle papers on her desk with one hand, forgetting she was holding the phone, but Daniel wasn't unaware. The seconds took him back to feeling like the school boy, how he'd gathered the courage to call his crush and now was fighting for something to strike another conversation.

For the first time he didn't know what to say. He couldn't think of one charming thing. Maybe it was because he knew it wasn't going to work on her. He could've been the most suave that he could master, but to her he would be transparent. Or maybe it was because with her he lost the ability that had concocted his reputation. He wasn't urbane around her, wasn't able to be who he was because he was someone completely different around her.

And he sort of liked the new him. Raking his hand through his spiky hair, the most blain conversation-starter popped from his mouth. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, Daniel. How are you?"

"Uh, I'm okay."

His eyes returned to her, finding that she had stopped her fiddling and was staring at her fingers coiling around the phone cord. The silence that followed was neither awkward nor pleasant. The elephant in the room was weighing down on them, pressing the words from their lungs, encouraging both further.

He broke first. "Are you sure you're okay?"

She sighed into the retriever, sort of dramatically. "I'm _fine_. I know everyone around here is waiting for me to break and thinks I'm going to have some mental meltdown, but I am so far away from that. I'm stronger than most people give me credit for, you know."

Daniel had no argument there. He thought his problems were bad; she was dealing with a boss who had kissed her, being in a tabloid and risking the chance of running into her almost ex-boyfriend that she'd cut away from recently. He always knew she was tough—had to be in their world—but the way she had handled herself since the whole lunch with Henry two days ago had proven to him that she didn't really need anyone to hold her hand. Though he was there, willing to provide said gesture, he wasn't about to coddle her independence. She had been perfect content with the ways things were going and had promulgated that clearly the last couple days.

He had no doubt that she didn't need protecting. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to try. "I know. I'm just looking out for you."

"Well thank you. But I don't really need it, now do I? I think you should be focusing less on me,"—_Easier said than done, _Daniel thought with a snort—"and more on organizing the show that's in less than a week. So I hanging up cause Hilda's supposed to call."

"Okay—"

True to her word, the words had barely made it past the first syllable when the dial tone interrupted him. Setting the phone back in its place, he forced himself to plug into his work. He needed the distraction. He needed to free his mind of time-consuming observations that plagued his thoughts too commonly. Luckily, the desperation in which he put forth in the task passed the time and, too soon, it was rolling around eleven-thirty.

Flicking his watch up his wrist then taping on the face, examining the tedious ticks of the second hand, his eyes trailed upward as the phone at Betty's desk rang. She grabbed it before it rang for the third time. The voice that clung to the other line screeched in her ear, causing a pained expression to contort her face, and she extended the phone from her ear, capable of hearing the frantic woman from a distance.

It was definitely Hilda and she was in hysterics. After figuring that it was safe to return to without the possibility of permanently going deaf, she propped the phone on her shoulder, her lips dropping in a frown. "Hilda, what's wrong? Why do you sound like you're crying?"

"I'm not crying." she exclaimed, the sound of her boot stomping on the kitchen floor heard. "Betty, the lawyer just called. Dad got a court date."

Betty smiled. "Good. When is it?"

"Today."

She froze. "Today?" she stammered weakly.

Hilda laughed at the other end. "Yeah. At two. How are we going to do that? At two!"

"That's in just over two hours. What are we going to do?" Betty breathed deeply, cupping her forehead, feeling flustered all of a sudden at the sudden turn about of fate. Maybe this was a good thing. If they just got it over with… "All right, you have to get Dad ready. I'll meet you there."

"Yeah, I can do that. Which suit do you think? Black or blue?" Hilda rambled.

Betty stopped. "Hilda. Really? You're worried about what he's going to wear?"

"Hey, presentation is key." Hilda defended, her bracelets clinking loudly.

"I like the blue one." Ignacio stated in the back ground, muffled by the distance.

"Okay, there you go. The blue one."

Hilda groveled for a response, saying with incredulous confusion, "Really? Blue?"

"I will see you both later, bye." Then she hung up, cutting Hilda off once again. Her head fell into her hands. She groaned. "Oh my God."

Her hands brushed over her face, making her glasses crooked, then through her hair, running to the back of her neck where they clasped. Two hours. That was it? In two hours her father's fate was going to be decided? In two hours the judge's gavel was going to drop on the rest of his life? That hardly seemed fair. Her leg began to bob uncontrollably and the train slammed into her harder, thrusting realization upon her in a clean sweep.

Quickly moving into frenzy mode, she gathered her purse on her desk, shoving necessities inside without a second thought on how she was going to get out of work for the day. She didn't care how, she just needed to go. Her father needed her and she wasn't going to deny him. But she knew Daniel would understand; he'd probably even convince her not to feel guilty and put somewhere in there that she deserved to take the day off, to which she would roll her eyes. But what was she going to tell him? What was her excuse?

The opportunity came before she had her answers. Daniel stepped out of his office, hand braced on the doorframe, and looked at her, studying her as she snapped her purse shut and shouldered it. He didn't say anything. She stared at him. "Daniel, is there any way that I could have the afternoon off?"

He nodded instantly, not even taking a second to ponder the request. Betty grinned happily and considered rushing up to him, but thought better of it as she rounded out of her desk. She thanked him, turning to leave. "Can I ask why?" he asked, bringing her back.

She faltered, biting her lip. It wasn't that she didn't trust him and didn't want to tell him, she just wasn't sure if her family issues were something to burden him with. He had enough to deal with without her problems. Except she found herself turning to face him and meeting his uneasy stance.

"Hilda just called." she began, hanging her head sheepishly. "My dad has a court hearing he needs to get to and I want to be there with him. It starts at two, but I'd rather go now and help get him prepared."

Daniel nodded pensively, stuffing his hands in pant pockets, rocking on his heels. "For what?"

Betty bit her lip, glancing around at the bustling office. "I'd rather not discuss it here." He nodded again. Then he darted into his office, snatched his jacket from the couch, and was in front of her, stretching to slip the jacket on, wiggling his eyebrows at her perplexed look. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going with you." he stated matter-of-factly, working on the first button.

"Wha…No, Daniel, no." She shook her head, eyes closing. "You need to stay here. You need to call Michael Fuchs back so you can figure out how to move all those chairs and tables out of the park. No, Daniel, I'll be fine. Stay here."

"Betty, it's not up for negotiation. The magazine can survive without us for a few hours. Now let's go."

Not entirely approving of the new plan, but not interested in objecting any further, Betty let Daniel lead her out of the office, maneuvering around the various clumps of people towards the barren elevators. As they passed Amanda's desk, Betty noticed the woman's mouth open, springing like a yo-yo for something to say as her crush and assistant ran off together.

As the doors to the elevator began to close, Betty looked to Daniel right beside her, wondering why he was suddenly so interested in helping her and being there for her for everything. It was refreshing, sure, but where was it coming from?

XXXX

Lunch hour in New York City was like ants scurrying about their mine, colliding into each other without as much as a pardon, too concealed in their own day to pay courtesy to their surroundings. They molded with the waves of people crashing over the streets scattered with beeping cars and furious drivers.

If the city itself was the mine then Starbucks was the queen's suite. The music from the speakers was barely audible over the chatter of the cramped coffee shop. College students were stationed sporadically at any available table or counter space, typing away ferociously on their computer, ear phones nestled in the cavities of their ears, refilled cup of steaming coffee at their side. Businessmen and women argued with each other, gesturing wildly to one another in their tales, strung in their own conversation that was too loud for any bordering customers. The bell above the door dinged each time it opened, barely staying closed for half a second before it snapped open again, more people filing in to extend the line further.

The barista's behind the counter hurried around each other, empty cups cluttered in their hands, handing off cup after cup, occasionally a pastry accompanying the market product. They were like lightning, rushing around to take care of the customer in haste to get to the next one. And, by the length of the line that was brushing the edge of the front door, they were going to need as much speed and patience as they could muster.

Daniel and Betty were huddled together in the line, just barely breaching the front counter, squished between the mother with her twin boys and a man behind them who was spitting into his cell phone rudely. Betty, shooting glances at the man over her shoulder, rambled about a random subject, breaking the tense air with her convivial voice. Daniel listened, surveying the long board of caffeine choices, though he already knew he was going to order his regular.

Finally, the mother led her two miss-behaving boys away, both wrists in one hand, each munching on a slender brownie, seemingly satisfied with the luxury. Betty watched them leave, the mother leant forward to reprimand them for making a scene, edging to the counter and the anxious-looking man in the green and black uniform.

Daniel swiftly placed his order, rattling the long name with ease, then turned to Betty, nudging her. "Do you want anything?"

"Ah,"—Her eyes roved up to the dozens of choices, getting lost in the scripted list—"no. I wouldn't know what to get."

Daniel turned back to the cashier, holding up his hand. "Make that two. And a lemonade."

Betty looked at him as he fished out his wallet and extracted a twenty. The barista disappeared into the insanity. "Daniel?"

"One for you. You'll love it." He placed his hand on the small of her back and leaned in, brushing her hair away from her neck. "Trust me." he whispered seductively. Betty smiled, feeling her stomach somersault. She swallowed. "If you don't, that's what the lemonade's for."

The barista appeared again, pushing two paper cups and a clear cup across the counter, shoving them off the port. Then he gestured for the next customer. The pair instantly ducked out of the way, weaving around to the small station off to the side littered with packets of cream and sugar and milk and anything else delectable that was made for coffee. Her drink stolen from her, Betty watched as Daniel prepared hers for her, adding just the right portions of cream and milk to her liking.

"Daniel, why are you doing this?" she asked, eyes still on him.

"Doing what?" he replied, feigning clueless.

"Taking care of me. I mean, I appreciate it, but…But it's not really you, I guess."

She caught the smile that spread on his lips. He shrugged. "Thing is, you're always there for me. You clean up my messes and kick my butt and put me in my place, whether I want to hear it or not. You've been my first real friend and I've never said thank-you. I just want you to know that I'm here for you. I want you to know that you can lean on me as much as I lean on you."

"And coffee says all that?" Betty quipped as he popped the lid on her cup.

He smirked, his shoulder jumping. "It's a start."

Taking a long sip of his drink, his offered his arm to her. She locked her arm in his and together they traipsed out of Starbucks, rejoining the human rat race. He gazed down at her, admiring the way the wind swept back her hair. "Henry's crazy for choosing another girl over you."

Betty stared up at him, taken back by the abrupt bluntness of the statement. It was a statement she would have expected from her father, but not from Daniel. He wasn't the one for flashy sentiment, especially not the obvious affections that he nearly always got caught red-handed for her. Was that was all this was about? Him watching her and going with her to her fathers hearing and buying her drinks. Was it all just one big ploy for her to see what she was trying to avoid seeing though she knew it was there? Was it her turn to own up to what was right under her nose?

XXXX

****

A/N: So, this chapter may not have been great, but it's just a set-up chapter. Next Daniel is going bowling with the Suarez's. Please review. I'll give you Eric Mabius shaped cookies.


	12. Authors Note

****

Authors Note: Hi everyone. I do send my exceeding apologies for not updating in, like, a month. Since the series is currently on summer break and not a lot of people have been writing, I'm sort of lacking inspiration for this peace. Which does not mean that I'll be abandoning it! Nope. I will update again, just most likely not anytime soon.

Until then, I hope you don't hate me and enjoy the summer. Ready for Ugly Betty to begin again!


End file.
